


Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

by parenthetical



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, spn: ep 3.04, spn: season three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-22
Updated: 2008-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:26:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 71,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parenthetical/pseuds/parenthetical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ben goes missing, Dean has to help, even if it means going in without Sam. By the time he stops to consider the consequences, it's already too late, and Sam's skating dangerously close to the edge in his determination to fix things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic I wrote during Nano 2007; I had only seen up to episode 3.04 (Sin City) at the time. This is therefore set post-3.04 and contains spoilers only up to that point; it has now been completely overtaken by canon and is officially AU. Title is of course from the Snow Patrol song of the same name. Much love to Zooey_Glass and Aynslee for their awesome beta-reading and Ameripicking skillz. &lt;333

The phone call came in the middle of the night.

"They've taken Ben," Lisa said, her voice wavering. "I didn't know who else to..."

It had been over eight months since he'd seen the kid, eight months since Lisa had told him he wasn't the father. But that didn't change a goddamn thing.

"Tell me everything you know," Dean said.

~*~

He drove through the night and reached Cicero in the early evening. Lisa's neighborhood was much as he remembered it: picket fences and happy families, shady trees and perfectly mowed lawns. There was something unnatural about it.

The front door of Lisa's house opened before he even had a chance to knock, and Lisa flung her arms around him. "Oh god, I'm sorry to make you come all this way, but after the - the changeling and everything, I didn't know who else to call. I don't -"

"It's okay, I'm glad you called," Dean told her, squeezing her arm. "Can I take a look at his room?"

"Of course," Lisa said, pulling back and brushing subtly at her eyes. "Come on in."

Ben's room was something else. Dean couldn't help a quiet, admiring whistle at the sight of the AC/DC and Metallica posters on the walls. Damn, but the kid had taste. Dean had almost never stayed anywhere long enough growing up for posters to be an option, and he'd never really thought twice about it at the time. Posters like that, though - that would have been pretty cool.

He headed across to the window, opening it far enough to lean out and check out the wall. No red stains this time, not that he'd really been expecting any. Even changelings could probably learn from their mistakes. Besides, the very fact that Ben was missing, not 'acting oddly', implied this was something different.

"Tell me again what happened," Dean said, closing the window and looking around the room.

"Ben went to bed just like normal," Lisa said helplessly. "Well, he put up as much resistance as usual, but eventually he went and I tucked him in. I read for a few hours, then went to bed myself - I looked in on him on the way past, he was sound asleep."

Dean crossed to the bed while she talked, checking the bedside table, the chest of drawers against the wall, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

"I woke up about... oh, it was almost 2 am. I don't know what woke me, I don't remember hearing anything, but something felt... wrong. And when I got up to check, Ben wasn't in his room." Lisa's voice wavered, but she wasn't crying. Dean felt guiltily grateful: Lisa was entitled, but he was totally out of his depth around crying women.

"And there's no chance he might've left on his own?" he asked. "I'm not saying it's likely, but..."

"No chance," Lisa said firmly. "His window was closed, and I would have heard if he'd gone downstairs. And he wouldn't take off, anyway. He's only eight, and it's - it's just the two of us, you know? He wouldn't go off somewhere without telling me, especially after what happened before."

Dean shifted a stack of CDs and paused, staring. "No. No, I don't think he did."

"What is it?" Lisa asked at once, crossing the room to look for herself.

Dean took a deep breath. Damn, this wasn't good. "It's sulfur."

"_Sulfur_?" Lisa said. "What - what does that mean?"

Dean looked at her, judging her ability to cope with the truth. She was pale, but rigid with determination, and he knew he couldn't lie to her, not about this. "It means a demon's been here."

Lisa turned several shades paler. "A - oh god. Oh god, _Ben_..."

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," Dean said. "I'm gonna drive around, ask people some questions, see if I can come up with anything. You're gonna make this house safe for you to stay in tonight, okay? You get salt, lots of it, go to the store if you have to, and you make a salt line in front of all the doors, along every windowsill - hell, play it safe, along all the walls, too. Okay?"

She nodded shakily. "Okay. You'll let me know as soon as you find anything out?"

"I'll call you in an hour or two to check in," Dean promised. "We're gonna find him, Lisa."

Lisa's smile was strained, but real. "You already did once, Dean. I trust you to do it again."

~*~

Dean had barely made it back to the Impala when his cell phone rang.

_About time_, he thought, and answered it, false cheeriness in his voice. "Hey, Sammy."

"Dean, where the _hell_ are you?" Sam demanded.

Dean felt his lips curl faintly in amusement. Sam had to be really pissed off if he was using the word 'hell' around Dean, a word he'd started stuttering over and avoiding several months previously. If Dean had thought for a minute that it was _his_ feelings Sam was trying to spare, he would probably have punched his brother in the face.

He guessed it was fair enough that Sam was angry right now, since he was far from a happy camper himself.

"Where the hell am I? Where the hell were _you_, Sam? I wake up in the middle of the night and you're fucking gone!"

Sam heaved a frustrated sigh. "You know I can't tell you, Dean. Look, I was off working with Ruby and it took longer than I expected, okay? But I think we're getting somewhere -"

"Shut the fuck up," Dean warned him. "Not another goddamn word, Sam."

"That's what I'm talking about," Sam said. "Why ask where I was when we both know I can't tell you, and you don't want to know anyway?"

Dean gritted his teeth. It wasn't that he didn't want to know, and Sam knew that damn well: it was that Dean couldn't take the risk of the crossroads demon interpreting it as him trying to weasel out of his deal. He hated that Sam refused to stop looking for a way to break the deal. As far as Dean was concerned, he had two months left, and he'd rather spend those two months with his brother than spend them wondering where Sam was and what the hell he was doing. Watching Sam spend more and more time with Ruby and getting even colder when it came to shooting the supernatural was not Dean's idea of a good time. Maybe he'd never been a fan of talking about his feelings, but he hated the forced silence between him and Sam a hell of a lot more.

Sam sighed and asked again, "Where are you, Dean? Bobby said you left him a note, but it didn't say much."

It hadn't. Dean hadn't been sure when Sam would return, and more importantly, he hadn't known whether Ruby would be with him. Sam insisted that she was helping him, that she was the key to saving Dean and she'd proved she could be trusted to some degree. As far as Dean was concerned, the sooner he got to exorcise the bitch back to hell, the better. He'd yet to meet a demon that wasn't following its own agenda, and the fact that he didn't know what Ruby's was didn't mean she didn't have one. He wasn't dumb enough to leave any details where they could fall into her hands.

"I'm in Cicero," Dean said.

He heard the intake of breath as Sam made the connection. "Ben? Lisa?"

"Ben's missing," Dean said shortly. "I found sulfur in his bedroom."

"I'll borrow a car from Bobby and drive down," Sam said. "Any leads yet?"

"No, but I only just got here," Dean said. "I'm gonna get to work, Sam. Don't be a dumbass and try to drive down if you didn't get any sleep last night, you hear me?"

"It'll probably take Bobby a while to find a car that'll hold together for the drive anyway," Sam said. Dean could hear his smile. "I'll grab a few hours sleep while he does that. Call me as soon as you find out anything."

"Yeah," Dean said, and hung up.

He was glad that Sam was going to join him. He understood his brother's increasing desperation to find a way to save him: he could remember all too clearly how he'd felt last year, the weight of his fears for Sam. But the fact of the matter was that he only had two months left to live. And Dean would rather spend that time with Sam than alone.

Right now, though, he had a kid to find.

The Impala roared out of the driveway.

~*~

He didn't have much time at the library before it closed, but it was long enough to check through some recent issues of the local newspaper and make some photocopies. There hadn't been any reports about other children going missing that he could see. He suspected Lisa would have mentioned it if there had been, but it always paid to make certain.

When the librarian politely but firmly ejected him ten minutes after closing time, Dean dialed Bobby's number.

Bobby answered on the fourth ring. "Found anything?" he asked without preamble.

Dean rubbed his forehead. "Not yet. Sam has the laptop - could you have a look online for me? Double-check for anything weird around here? I'm gonna find a bar or a diner or something, ask around."

"All right," Bobby agreed. "Sam's getting some shut-eye."

"Good," Dean said. "Do me a favor and don't let him head out for a few hours yet. I'll be seriously pissed if he gets himself killed by falling asleep at the wheel."

Bobby chuckled. "I'll give him a few more hours before I wake him. He don't need to know it only took me half an hour to find a car."

Dean laughed. "Thanks, Bobby."

"You be careful," Bobby told him sternly.

"Always am," Dean said flippantly. "Call me if you find anything."

~*~

He drew a blank at the diner he stopped at. They did a mean apple pie, and the waitress was cute and happy to gossip - he had the impression she'd be happy to do far more than that, and maybe he'd try to stop by again once Ben was back where he belonged - but he didn't get much in the way of useful information.

Lisa was looking pale and strained when he arrived back at her house.

"I take it you haven't heard anything," Dean said.

"No," Lisa admitted. "And you..."

Dean shook his head wearily. "Not yet. But I've got friends checking into things. We'll find him, Lisa."

"Yes," Lisa replied weakly, then her tone turned brisk. "You'll stay here tonight, won't you? You drove a long way today, you must be exhausted."

"Sleep when you're dead, that's my motto," Dean said with a sardonic smile. As if on cue, however, he couldn't quite suppress a yawn. "I could sleep here, though, yeah."

"I'll make up the sofa for you," Lisa said, and headed for a closet.

Dean used the time to walk around checking the salt lines. They looked pretty good. He didn't think he and Lisa were in danger of being attacked while they slept, at least.

"Here you go," Lisa said. "If you need anything..."

"Thanks," Dean said, restraining himself to one appreciative but regretful look at her ass as she headed up the stairs. Damn, but it was tough sometimes, being too classy to hit on vulnerable women.

He settled down on the sofa, which turned out to be a hell of a lot more comfortable than some motel beds he'd slept on. Okay, so there was a risk that he'd turn over in the middle of the night and roll right off the edge, but since Sam wouldn't be there to see it and laugh, that was an acceptable risk.

He could feel exhaustion catching up with him now; he'd only got a couple of hours' sleep the previous night before Lisa's phone call. But he hated the thought that Ben was out there somewhere, that demons were mixed up in the equation, and yet he had to waste time sleeping. Time felt too short to waste on that these days.

Just as he was dozing off, his cell phone rang. Dean cursed and grabbed it without bothering to look at the display. "Sam?"

Because really, only his little brother had that kind of timing.

"Hey," Sam said. He sounded more awake than he had earlier. _Makes one of us_, Dean thought ruefully. "I wake you?"

"Nah," Dean replied semi-truthfully, rubbing his eyes. "What's up?"

"Did you tell Bobby to pick that car out for me?"

Dean paused. "Why, what car did he pick out for you?"

"It's _pink_," Sam said.

Dean laughed out loud, feeling some of the stress of the past day fall away. "Oh man, much as I wish I could take the credit, that one was all Bobby. Awesome. This I gotta see."

"Yeah, well, you'll get to see late tomorrow, I guess," Sam said. "I'm setting off now. Bobby said to tell you he hasn't come up with anything yet, but he'll keep looking and call you tomorrow morning sometime. You had any luck since you spoke to him earlier?"

"Well, I met a real friendly waitress," Dean said, grinning at the memory.

He could almost _hear_ Sam rolling his eyes, and found himself grinning even more widely at that as he continued, "She filled me in on the local gossip, but no, nothing all that useful. And I'm gonna have to get some sleep before I start looking again."

"We'll find him," Sam promised. "Look, I'm gonna go. I'll see you late tomorrow."

"Enjoy driving your princess-mobile," Dean told him, yawning widely.

"Jerk," Sam said without heat, and hung up as Dean laughed.

~*~

Dean woke early the next morning. Sleeping in wasn't really something he indulged in these days anyway, and particularly not in a situation like this.

He started by looking around Ben's bedroom again, half-hoping to find something that might indicate where the demon had taken the kid or what it wanted. Other than the sulfur, though, and the salt Lisa had strewn across the windowsill and along the outside wall, there didn't appear to be anything out of the norm.

He sifted through the pile of music magazines on the kid's desk, glanced at the books on his shelves. Nothing really jumped out at him.

The door to the room was suddenly flung open, revealing Lisa standing wide-eyed in the doorway. Dean saw her face fall as she caught sight of him.

"Sorry," Dean said, trying really hard not to look at her legs, which her robe didn't entirely cover. "I thought I'd have another look around up here -"

"It's fine," Lisa said quickly, mustering up a weak smile. "I just - it was silly of me to think it could be Ben. I'll just, um, go get dressed."

Dean nodded, feeling slightly guilty, and picked up the nearest thing to hand to concentrate on, which turned out to be Ben's notebooks for school. He flicked through them idly, and paused as something fell out of one and landed on the floor.

He stooped and picked it up. It looked like a torn-off scrap of paper, but when he turned it over, it appeared to be the top half of some kind of survey. He scanned it quickly; it was advertising a youth center due to open soon, with the offer of a free coupon for a local music store for everyone who filled in the survey, so the management could get a better idea of what kind of services to offer.

The bottom half - presumably where the questions had been - was missing.

Dean frowned. He could imagine Ben being the sort of kid who'd jump at the chance of getting something for nothing, particularly if the music store in question was a decent one.

Lisa reappeared in the doorway. "I'm going to make some breakfast, if you'd like something?"

Dean had never been sure exactly what yoga instructors ate, but he had a strong suspicion it would be something he wouldn't class as actual food. "No, it's fine, I'll grab something while I'm out. Lisa, have you seen this?" He passed her the piece of paper.

Lisa read it, frowning. "I haven't seen it before, no. They must just be asking kids."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Did you know there was going to be a youth center opening?"

"I haven't heard anything about it, actually," Lisa admitted. "Maybe I just missed it, though."

"Maybe," Dean said. "Okay, I'm gonna go and do some digging. Does Ben have any close friends who live nearby? Friends he walks to school with?"

"There are a couple, yeah," Lisa said. "Tim, he lives a couple of houses away, and Matt in the next street over. You'd probably be best off trying the park, though, if you want to talk to them: most of the kids in the neighborhood will probably be there at this time on a Saturday. You think they might know something?"

"That's what I'm hoping to find out," Dean said, taking the survey back and tucking it into his pocket. "I'll call you later, Lisa."

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat?" Lisa offered again as he headed towards the stairs. "Even a sandwich or something to take with you?"

Dean hesitated for a moment, torn. On the one hand, food. On the other hand, well, _yoga-instructor_ 'food'. "Thanks, but I'm good."

~*~

"Yeah, there was this woman handing them out when we were walking home the day before yesterday," the kid said, passing back the survey. "She had a whole bunch of coupons with her, so most of us filled it in. They were just stupid questions, anyway."

"What kind of questions?" Dean asked.

"Like if you live nearby or whatever," the other kid piped up. "And what kind of games or whatever you want them to have."

"How about your name?" Dean asked. "Did you have to put that down?"

"No, she said it wasn't supposed to have names," the first kid said.

"We just had to sign another sheet to say she'd given us our coupons," the second kid added. "So we couldn't come back later and say she'd forgotten and try to make her give us another one."

_Great_, Dean thought. "What did the woman look like?"

"Really pale," the first kid said. "Like, really really white."

"Like a vampire," the second kid said.

"It was _daylight_, vampires only come out at _night_," the first kid said scornfully.

"She was white like a vampire, though," the other kid said defensively.

"Okay, so she was really pale," Dean summed up. "What else?"

"She had black hair, long," one of the kids said. "She was kind of pretty, only, like, seriously white."

Dean figured that was about as much as he was likely to get. "Okay, thanks, guys. Just one more thing - you hear about this youth center before? She tell you where it's gonna be or anything?"

The boys shook their heads. "She said it would be near where we lived, but she didn't say where," one said.

The library, when Dean returned there, wasn't able to shed any further light on the matter. His suspicions seemed confirmed when, several hours later, even the librarian was unable to find any information about a new youth center.

"If they're still at the research stage, I suppose it's possible there wouldn't be much information on record," she said, looking puzzled. "But it surprises me, I must admit. Especially since we tend to work quite closely with projects like that."

"Well, thank you anyway," Dean said, and stepped outside to call Bobby.

"You think there's a connection between this woman and the kid's disappearance?" Bobby asked when Dean had told him what he'd found out.

"Could be," Dean said. "The youth center story seems pretty weak, no one's heard anything about it. It might've been a way of making contact with the kids, maybe confirming who Ben was."

"I take it you're not going with the vampire idea, though," Bobby said drily.

Dean snorted a laugh. "Not unless they've taken to leaving sulfur behind to throw us off the scent."

"At any rate, if you're right, she specifically went after Ben," Bobby said. "And went to some pains to make sure she got the right kid. Why would a demon want that kid in particular?"

Dean swallowed hard. He'd been thinking about that himself, and he didn't particularly like the conclusion he'd come to. "Because of me."

Silence. He went on before Bobby could say anything. "I've been thinking about it, and I can't come up with another reason, Bobby. Like you say, this demon went after Ben, specifically him. It can't be a coincidence. Somehow the demon knew Lisa would call me."

"You think it's a trap," Bobby said.

"Yeah, I do," Dean agreed.

"In that case, though, this demon must want you to find her," Bobby said slowly. "Wouldn't she have made it a bit more obvious where she's taken the kid?"

"I'm thinking she doesn't want me finding her before she's ready," Dean said grimly. "It won't surprise me if she lets me know the location at that point. The key's going to be figuring out where she is before that."

"What can I do?" Bobby asked.

Dean was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he said, "Can you track down a music store called HemiDemiSemi for me?"

~*~

The door opened with a jangle that Dean could barely hear over the sound of Britney Spears pumping through the store. He shuddered, and for the first time that day he was relieved that Sam wasn't with him. His brother could have a real evil streak when it came to music, and Dean didn't want him getting any ideas.

Once he'd adjusted somewhat to the musical pollution in the air, he stepped further inside and took a good look around. Most of the store was filled with CDs, inevitably, but there was a small vinyl section at the back next to the counter. And despite what the kid there was currently playing, there did look to be a fairly decent selection of classic rock CDs. Dean could imagine Ben buying stuff here, assuming he could brave the staff's questionable musical taste for long enough.

He flipped through the records for a minute, keeping an eye on the kid at the counter, who looked like he was absorbed in a magazine and entirely oblivious to anyone else in the store. But when no weirdly pale woman materialized, he decided to make a move before his ears started to bleed.

The kid couldn't be older than about nineteen, and Dean had to clear his throat twice before he glanced up from his magazine and jumped.

"Jesus, I didn't hear you come up," the kid said, rubbing at his mouth.

"Didn't mean to sneak up on you," Dean said. "The music, you know -"

"What?" the kid half-yelled, barely audible over the sound of Britney Spears begging them to _gimme more_.

"I said I'm looking for someone!" Dean yelled back.

The kid looked confused. "Dude, you do realize this is a music store?"

Dean leaned across and turned off the CD. There was no way he could have a conversation with someone whose brain was being destroyed by bad music at the same time. He had a duty to protect people, after all.

"Hey!" the kid said indignantly. "You can't do that!"

"I need two minutes of your time, then I'm out of here and you can put it on permanent repeat at full blast for all I care," Dean said. He didn't actually mean to sound threatening, but he guessed his musical outrage was coming across a bit more violently than he intended, judging by the way the kid swallowed and nodded shakily.

"Okay, let's try this again," Dean said. "I'm looking for someone. A woman. Dark hair, kind of pretty, really pale. I mean, _real_ pale. Ring any bells?"

The kid frowned. "You mean Stacey?"

"Stacey, right," Dean said. "You know where I can find her?"

"She quit yesterday," the kid said. "It was kinda sudden - this should've been her shift today, they got me in to cover instead -"

"Tell me, you got a phone number for her? Or her address?" Dean asked.

The kid looked nervous. "I don't think I'm supposed to -"

Dean tilted his head, and the kid swallowed visibly. "She's not in any trouble, is she?"

"I just want to see her, that's all," Dean said soothingly. "So you _do _have an address?"

~*~

By the time Dean arrived back at Lisa's house, he was fuming. The kid had given him the address, but while the street had been genuine, the house number hadn't been. If he'd thought the kid had lied to him, he'd have gone back to the store and taken him apart, but frankly, Dean didn't credit anyone who liked Britney Spears' music with that much intelligence. More likely, this Stacey chick had given a fake address.

Which was kind of weird in its own right, because if she'd been possessed by a demon, surely the store should have had the girl's real address? Unless she'd already been possessed when she started working there. But then why would she have waited this long to go after Ben?

Dean had the horrible feeling he was overlooking something crucial. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed when a kid was missing.

Lisa hurried to meet him, but Dean was relieved to see that she remembered to stay behind the salt line, like he'd warned her.

"Did you find anything?" she asked.

"I found a few good leads, but no luck so far," he admitted. "Does the name Stacey ring any bells for you? Dark hair, really pale?"

Lisa shook her head, but he could see her face hardening. "No, she doesn't sound familiar. You think that's the bitch who took my son?"

"I think so," Dean said. "Though who or what she is, I'm not sure yet."

Lisa nodded, biting her lip. "I've called the parents of all of his friends, just to make sure no one's seen him. And to warn them to keep an eye on their own kids, in case - in case there'll be more, like last time."

"Good thinking," Dean agreed. "Though I've got a hunch there won't be more this time."

"What do you -" Lisa began, and cut off suddenly.

Dean turned at the same moment, having heard the same sound. He pulled out his gun and threw the door open.

No one was there, but a folded piece of paper was lying on the doorstep.

Dean stepped forward, keeping his gun steady, and checked up and down the street. He wasn't really expecting to see anyone suspicious - if he was dealing with a demon, they could be long gone by now - but it was worth checking. After a moment, he picked the note up cautiously and stepped back into the house.

"What does it say?" Lisa asked, reaching out for the note.

Dean let her take it and unfold it, standing beside her so he could see too.

In looping handwriting, the note simply gave an address, and beneath that just two words: "Sunset, alone."

Dean restrained himself from cursing, for Lisa's sake. It confirmed his suspicions that this whole set-up was a trap, one aimed at him. That Ben was in danger because of _him_. There was no other reason for the note, and no other reason for it to have been left immediately after he had arrived back at the house.

"Why would they do this?" Lisa asked. Her voice sounded shaky, but there was an underlying anger there, and Dean really hoped it wasn't about to be directed at him, even if he did deserve it. "You know what they want, don't you? Tell me, Dean!"

"I think they want me," Dean admitted slowly. "I'm sorry, Lisa. I never thought anything like this could happen."

"For god's sake, Dean, you hadn't seen either of us in eight months. There's no reason why you should've expected someone to go after Ben because of you," Lisa told him firmly. "We just - we just need to figure out what we're going to do to get him back."

"That's easy enough," Dean said. "I'm going to go there, and I'm going to get him back."

Lisa stared at him. "Is that safe? I mean, if they're after you -"

"Sure," Dean said, with a bright certainty he was far from feeling. "It'll be fine, you'll have Ben back safe and sound in no time. I just need to make a couple of phone calls, then I'll head over there. Do you know where that address is?"

"Down near the reservoir somewhere," Lisa said. "I'll get the map..." She headed off up the stairs.

Dean took the opportunity to call Bobby and fill him in.

"So you think this Stacey woman is possessed and holding Ben?" Bobby summarized. "You got any idea who she might be?"

Dean shook his head, even knowing Bobby couldn't see him. "If Stacey's possessed, it could be any demon who doesn't like me. Which is all of them."

"So what's your plan?" Bobby asked. "Sam should be there in an hour or two."

Dean sighed. "We can't wait that long, Bobby."

"You'd better not be thinking of going in there by yourself," Bobby said. "You know it's a trap, and it's you she's after!"

"Sure," Dean agreed, lowering his voice in case Lisa overheard. "But I'm not waiting around here for her to decide I'm not coming and take the kid apart."

"You don't know who the h- who you're dealing with here, Dean," Bobby warned him. His voice had the furious tone that Dean had heard more and more over the past year. "You can't just go charging in there without backup."

"Does it really matter, at this stage?" Dean said wearily, suddenly tired of all the pretence. "It's not like I've got much left to lose, Bobby."

"You got plenty left to lose," Bobby told him, his voice hard. "And you'd better get that through that damn-fool head of yours sooner rather than later."

"Two months is all the later I've got," Dean said simply. "I've gotta go Bobby, I need to call Sam and tell him what's happening."

He hung up before Bobby could argue further.

~*~

Sam checked his mirror and took the exit, staying just below the speed limit. He couldn't afford to waste any time. The Colt was a comforting weight at his side as he drove, reassurance that he would be able to help Dean when he got there.

"Damnit, Dean," he hissed under his breath. Even driving all day hadn't reduced his anger, just banked it, ready to blaze up at the first opportunity. He still couldn't believe Dean had just taken off without waiting for him. Admittedly, he'd ended up being away far longer than planned - he'd told Ruby they would have to be back before morning so Dean wouldn't get suspicious, but he'd struggled with what she was showing him and it had been late afternoon before he'd made it back to Bobby's - but still, Dean could have _waited_. Especially since the reason Sam had been gone was because he was working on a way to save his brother.

Dean had gotten reckless, though, ever since his deal. It had only gotten worse as the months passed. Sam was determined he was going to save him; Dean seemed equally determined not to be saved, and acted accordingly. Sometimes it was like his brother had a goddamn deathwish, and it made Sam so furious that he wanted to punch him.

That was just another of the many things they couldn't talk about these days. Communication had never really been a Winchester strong point, but Dean's apparent conviction that Sam would drop dead the second they talked about anything even vaguely related to breaking that goddamn deal had left them with less and less to say to each other as the year rushed by.

Well, Sam _refused_ to lose him. And once he broke the deal, he was going to punch his brother, then hug him for about an hour, no matter how much Dean protested. And then probably yell at him for another hour, until Dean yelled back and they finally cleared the air of all the issues that had been piling up between them.

His cell phone rang, lying on the seat next to him.

Sam pulled over as quickly as he could without causing an accident and grabbed it. "Dean?"

"Hey, Sam." Dean sounded grim, and Sam took a deep breath.

"Is Ben - did you -"

"He's still alive, far as I know," Dean reassured him swiftly, though his voice didn't lighten. "I don't think they'll kill him, at least not until they get what they want."

"Which is what?" Sam asked, already knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Me," Dean said succinctly. "We found a note with an address."

"Okay, well, I'll be there in an hour or two," Sam said. "We can go check it out as soon as I get there."

Dean was silent, and Sam felt his heart rate pick up. "Dean? Dean - oh no, you'd better not be thinking what I think you are."

"I can't wait that long, Sam," Dean said finally. "The note said to come at sunset, and to come alone. Ben's life is at risk. I can't wait, I can't take that chance."

"But you can throw away your own?" Sam demanded furiously. "You're just going to walk right in there, knowing it's a trap?"

"I'll be careful," Dean said. "But yeah, I'm going in. That's what I was calling to tell you. I'm heading over there in a minute."

"Dean, no," Sam said. "Come on, you can wait an hour for me to get there, they won't kill him if they think there's still a chance you'll go after him, they're _bluffing_. You can't go in there without someone watching your back!"

Dean sighed. "I can't take that risk, Sam. I'm sorry."

"Dean," Sam said, feeling sick, "Dean, wait, c'mon - Dean -"

"Watch your back, Sammy," Dean said, and the line went dead.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled furiously, and punched the speed dial for his brother's cell phone. It went straight to voicemail: Dean had switched it off.

Sam swore and wrenched the car back onto the road. This time, he ignored the speed limit entirely.

~*~

"I found it on the map," Lisa said, re-entering the living room. "I was right, it's down by the reservoir."

Dean shoved his cell phone into his pocket. God, he always hated hanging up on Sammy, even when he knew it was the only option. He hated having to switch off his phone, too, something he only did in situations like this. He wished this whole thing could have gone down differently.

"Show me," he said, forcing himself to focus as he turned to face Lisa.

Lisa pointed out the building on the map. "There's a couple of abandoned warehouses and stuff down there, I think it's one of them. It's a run-down area of town, most people avoid it after dark."

"Sounds like the place," Dean said. "Okay, I'll call you as soon as I know anything -"

Lisa stared at him. "I'm coming with you."

Dean paused. "It's not a good idea, Lisa."

"That's my son they've got," Lisa said defiantly. "I'm not going to just sit around here hoping for the best!"

Dean winced. "Lisa - look, I respect that, believe me, I do. That's always kind of been how I feel about this job - but this is gonna be dangerous, okay? Demons - they're not something to mess about with. You're brave as hell, and I know you'd do anything to protect your son, but you're not trained for this." He hesitated, then decided to come right out and say it, in the hope that it might deter her from following him. "And even if you were, that note said I was to come alone. So please, Lisa, stay here, okay? Ben needs you, but he needs you to stay safe, you get me?"

Lisa looked like she was close to tears again now, and Dean was sorry about that, but he believed what he was saying. Hunting was no business for amateurs, no matter how well-motivated.

After a moment, Lisa nodded. "You call me the moment you have him," she said, her voice all the more deadly for the way it shook. "You call me."

"I promise," Dean said.

~*~

He left the Impala a street away from the address he'd been given, and waited only long enough to grab extra holy water and ammo from the trunk.

He wasn't planning on just walking up to the front door and knocking; there was a difference between accepting he was taking a dangerous risk that might well get him killed and actually being suicidally stupid, even if Sam tended to assume he fell into the latter category. Instead he checked out the building from a distance, keeping out of sight and working his way round to identify all the exits and see if there was any sign of Ben or the demon chick.

Lisa had been right that the building was an abandoned warehouse. Most of the street seemed to be made up of derelict buildings, with boarded-up windows or shattered panes of glass. There was no sign that anyone was there at all.

The sun was creeping lower along the horizon.

"Here goes nothing," Dean muttered, and headed for the half-hidden side-entrance he'd identified as his best option.

He stuck to the shadows and moved from one piece of cover to another as quickly as he could, keeping his gun lowered but in his hand. The door itself delayed him for a moment while he picked the padlock, but a few seconds later he was inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

It was dark inside, and he paused for a second to let his eyes adjust. He was in a narrow hallway with a door at one end and a flight of stairs leading upwards at the other. He headed towards the door and flattened himself against the wall, listening for any sound. When he couldn't hear anything, he shifted so he could peer around the corner through the door.

The room through the doorway was huge and dark. From what he could make out, Dean figured that it was the warehouse proper. There were still rotting boxes and crumbling crates stacked on the floor in huge piles, making it impossible to see for certain whether anyone was in there.

Someone pressed up against him, near enough for him to feel the swell of her breasts against his back, and closed a hand around the wrist holding his gun.

"Ssh, Dean. Why don't you give me that," she murmured, barely above a whisper.

Dean allowed her to take the weapon, his mind working furiously. He still remembered that voice, despite the months that had passed.

"Casey."

"Surprise," she said, stepping back. He could hear the smile in her voice. "Okay, you can turn around now. But keep your voice down."

Dean turned, and couldn't help but recoil at the sight of her. She was still as beautiful as she had been when he'd met her in that bar, as she had been when she'd stretched out in the circle and laughed at him - as she hadn't been with her blood staining the floor after Sam shot her with the Colt. But now he understood why the kids had all mentioned how pale she was. Deathly pale.

"Casey's a cooler name than Stacey," was all he said.

She gave him a hard-edged smile. "I agree. But we didn't want you to realize who you were dealing with too soon."

"We? Oh, great, your boyfriend's around here too?" Dean asked.

"Of course," Casey said. "We come as a pair, just like you and Sam." She glanced around meaningfully. "Well. I guess that's not quite true these days, is it?"

"So how did you manage to come back?" Dean asked, ignoring that entirely. "Because the last time I saw you, you were pretty damn dead. And okay, you're looking... not exactly a picture of health right now, I'll admit -"

Casey arched an eyebrow. "And whose fault is that?"

"I'm just surprised you didn't pick yourself out a new body when you came back," Dean said. "One a bit less... dead. Or whatever."

"Are you saying you don't like this body any more, Dean?" Casey asked, running the hand not holding his gun provocatively down her side. "I didn't have much choice in the matter, let's leave it at that. You'll hurt my feelings at this rate, you know. And here I thought I was being nice to you."

"Somehow I don't class kidnapping Ben as 'nice'", Dean said. "Where is he? I'm here now, you've got what you want, so you can let him go."

"He's not been hurt," Casey said. "I made sure of that. You should be thanking me, really. My 'boyfriend', as you refer to him, had rather different plans." She lowered her voice further, almost confidingly. "He's still holding a bit of a grudge about what happened. You weren't exactly his favorite human to begin with, and after that..."

"So that's what this is about? Payback for what happened in Elizabethville?" Dean asked. "What, you were too scared to go after us, you had to use a little kid as bait?"

Casey laughed softly. "Let's just say we had our reasons. Look, Dean, I'll give it to you straight. He wants you dead. Well, his real issue is with your brother, but he'll settle for killing you for now. Preferably slowly and painfully. As for me... I like you, you know. I did notice you told Sam not to shoot me. Pity he never bothers to listen to you, but still. That counts for a lot in my book. So I'm going to do you a favor, Dean."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah?"

Casey stepped closer, right into his space. Dean forced himself to hold his ground, and she leaned in to murmur into his ear, her breath washing over his neck. "I'm going to let you go."

She pulled back far enough to meet his eyes. Dean wasn't sure his expression was like, but it made her laugh softly.

"I'm not leaving without Ben," Dean said bluntly.

"I didn't suggest you should," Casey said, sounding amused. "He's in one of the offices upstairs, you can take him with you." She turned and started walking towards the stairs.

Dean hesitated for a moment, then followed her. He didn't seem to have many other options.

"Why?" he asked as they made their way up the stairs. "Assuming I even believe you, why would you go to all this trouble and then just let us go?"

"I wasn't lying when I said I liked you," Casey said quietly. "Keep your voice down. I couldn't talk _him_ out of this plan, so I went along with it. But I don't think it's... in our best interests, shall we say. And besides, I've never liked being a pawn."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "A pawn for who?"

Casey threw a sardonic glance over her shoulder. "I'm not suicidal, Dean, believe it or not. This way. And I mean it, keep it down - if _he _catches us, you're dead."

"That's what they all say," Dean muttered. Then louder - but not as loud as before - he asked, "What's to stop me from getting the kid out of here and then coming back in and sending you both back to hell?"

"You mean other than the fact that we'll kill you if you try?" Casey said. "My goodwill extends to giving you a chance, Dean. But that's it. If you come back in, the best I can do for you is try to make it quick."

Dean didn't reply. If he left the two demons at large, they would still be a threat to Ben and Lisa. Not to mention Sam - he really didn't like those hints about Sam being the real target, or someone else being involved. Sure, Casey _might _be willing to let him go - though he'd believe it when it happened - but did that mean he could just turn his back and let _her_ go?

_Demons always have their own agenda_, he thought. _Question is, what's hers?_

"Here," Casey said, opening a door.

Ben was sitting on a chair, ropes wound around him, kicking his heels against the chair legs. He looked up and brightened instantly when he saw Dean standing behind Casey. "Dean!"

"Hey, kiddo," Dean said, crossing to him and pulling out a knife to cut away the ropes. "How're you doing? You hurt?"

"No, just bored out of my skull. And I'm _hungry_," Ben complained.

"Yeah? How about we get out of here and find you something to eat?" Dean suggested.

"Keep it down, or no one will be going anywhere," Casey warned them, glancing down the corridor worriedly.

"C'mon, Ben," Dean said, helping him up. "Let's go."

Casey led the way down the stairs, looking nervously in the direction of the door the to warehouse proper, and opened the side door Dean had entered through.

"Go, and be quick," she whispered.

Dean shot a swift glance outside to check the coast was clear, then urged Ben out. "Thanks, Casey," he said quietly, turning back to her.

She shoved his gun at him. "Just go."

He took the gun and stepped outside. The door closed behind him before he could say anything else.

"Okay, Ben," Dean whispered. "We're gonna run across to the other side of the alley, fast as you can, okay? Don't stop till you reach those packing cases over there. Got it?"

"Got it," Ben said.

"_Now_," Dean said, and they ran, Dean slower than usual so Ben could keep up.

Even as they moved, Dean's mind was working furiously. Leave with Ben or go back in? Trust Casey to keep her lover from going after Ben again, or exorcise them both back to hell? Go back and wait for Sam or take the risk alone?

The smart thing to do would be to give Ben his cell phone and send him back to the Impala, then go back in and try to take the demons out. Much as he appreciated Casey's assistance, she was a demon, and he didn't trust her, not an inch. Maybe she hadn't killed Ben - this time - but she _had _killed Richie and who knew how many others, and there was no way he could justify leaving her or her lover free to kill again. Besides, what did he have to lose? Better for him to take the risk alone than for Sam to go in there with him, especially since Sam was the one who'd shot both the demons back in Elizabethville, and was probably their real target.

And yet.

He wanted to see Sam again, wanted to laugh at the sight of whatever pink monstrosity Bobby had picked out for him. He wanted Sam to yell at him for hanging up on him and then call him a jerk and clap him on the shoulder. He wanted to see Ben back with his mother.

It was such a fucking stupid thing to realize now, when he only had two months left, but there it was: he wanted to live.

"Which way, Dean?" Ben asked as they ducked behind the packing cases.

Dean took a deep breath. "This way, c'mon."

They stayed in the shadows but ran up the alley as fast as Ben could manage, Dean casting wary glances over his shoulder. There was no sign yet of anyone emerging from the warehouse.

When he looked back, there was a figure standing in the middle of the alleyway, just a few feet in front of them.

Ben gasped. "Him!"

Dean didn't need the confirmation: he recognized him immediately as the priest they'd called Father Gil before they'd realized he was possessed. He looked much the same, minus the priest outfit, and was just as horribly pale as Casey.

He was smiling.

Dean was already aiming his weapon at his chest, though he knew it was unlikely to cause much damage.

"Ben," he said quietly, "I want you to run past him, and keep running until you get to my car, okay? You run and you don't stop and you don't look back. Got it?"

"Got it," Ben said. His voice was scared in a way it hadn't been before, but Dean couldn't spare a glance down to make sure he was okay: he didn't dare take his eyes off the demon.

"Okay, _go_ now, Ben, go!" Dean ordered.

Ben took off, head down and running flat-out. Dean kept his eyes on the demon, a silent promise of what he'd do if it did anything to the kid.

Father Gil's head turned as Ben passed, following him, as if he was considering reaching out to him.

The sound of Dean cocking the hammer was very loud in the narrow alleyway.

Father Gil slowly looked back to him, black eyes glinting. "Do you honestly think shooting me will help you this time?"

~*~

Sam pulled up in front of Lisa's house, and barely bothered to put the car into park before he was out and running up to her door.

"Lisa!" he yelled, pounding on it. "Lisa, answer the door! _Lisa_!"

The door opened a crack and Lisa's frightened face appeared. Looking down, Sam caught sight of the salt line, and knew at once that she wasn't stupid enough to come out to him.

"Lisa, I'm Sam Winchester, Dean's brother, maybe you remember me. I know he's gone to find Ben, and I need to go help him, I need you to tell me where he is."

Lisa was shaking her head nervously. "He said not to cross the line, that -"

"I know what he told you," Sam said as fast as he could. He knew he ought to be gentler with her, that she had to be half out of her mind with worry, but Dean's life was in danger and he just didn't have _time_ for this. "Step back - I'll cross the line, okay? A demon can't do that, that's why Dean got you to lay the salt line, so if I can cross it, you'll know I'm not a demon, I'm the real thing, okay? Lisa, step back."

Lisa looked uncertain, but she took one wavering step back, and Sam stepped into the house, crossing the salt line.

"See? Lisa, I need you to tell me where Dean is, he's in danger and I need to get to him. _Please_, Lisa."

Lisa hesitated for a moment, then nodded suddenly, firmly, as if she'd come to a decision she'd been struggling with for a while. "I'll take you there. Let's go."

Under other circumstances, Sam would have argued, told her it was too dangerous, begged her to stay in her house. Instead, he turned and ran for the car.

"Down by the reservoir," Lisa instructed, sliding in beside him. "Head left at the end of this road."

Sam drove faster than he would ever normally have dared. Good luck to any police officer who tried to stop him now. But it was dark by now, and the streets were quiet.

"Okay, a right at the end of this street," Lisa said eventually. "And it should be at the end of an alley down there, an abandoned warehouse -" She cut off as Sam made the turn. "That's Dean's car!"

"Yeah," Sam said tersely, pulling his car to a screeching halt next to it, abandoning it in the middle of the street. He was out and heading for the entrance to the alleyway without even bothering to switch off the engine.

"_Mom_!"

Sam paused and swung round in time to see Ben leap out from where he must have been hiding on the other side of the Impala and run to his mother.

"Ben!" Lisa cried, dropping to her knees to wrap her arms around him. "Oh, thank god -"

There was no sign that Dean was with him, though. Sam turned away again and ran towards the alley.

~*~

"I figure it might be worth a try," Dean said with a hard-edged grin. "Can't hurt, can it? Well, not me, anyway."

"I wouldn't count on that, Dean," Casey's familiar voice said in his ear. She was suddenly pressed against his back again - only this time she had a knife pressed to his throat.

Dean tried not to swallow, and let her take his gun away from him.

"Thank you," Father Gil said, a warmer note creeping into his voice for the first time. "Now then. Why don't we take this back inside? Then we can take our time about this."

"Tempting as that sounds," Dean said, keeping his voice bored, "I'm afraid you'll have to count me out. Prior engagement and all that."

"Yes, so I've heard," Casey said. He felt the angle of her head shift as she addressed her lover. "I was contacted. Sam's on his way, he'll be here any minute. We need to cut this short."

"How... disappointing," Father Gil said, and raised one hand, clenching it into a fist.

Dean didn't even have time to figure out what he was doing before the pain hit him.

It was agony, agony of a kind he'd experienced only once before, when the yellow-eyed demon had pinned him to the wall of a dark cabin and torn his insides apart. For a moment, it felt as if he were back there, hatred shining in his father's yellow eyes, before the world came back into focus. He was slumped back against Casey, who had one arm around his waist now, holding him upright with inhuman ease. His throat felt raw, but he had no idea whether he'd been screaming or not.

He choked on his own blood and weakly spat a mouthful onto the ground beside him.

"Let's go," Casey urged her lover. "We need to get out of here before Sam arrives."

Dean tried dizzily to focus. "Sam..."

"We've still got another minute or two," Father Gil said, and raised his hand again.

Dean was pretty sure he was screaming this time. He could feel muscle shredding and bone breaking, breath ever harder to catch as the agony ripped through him.

When Father Gil lowered his hand, it didn't stop. The damage was there, whether he was causing more or not, and Dean coughed weakly, the sick, rich taste of warm blood in his mouth.

Casey lowered him to the ground. Dean almost wished she'd just dropped him; perhaps then he'd have passed out. The expression in her eyes was almost sympathetic, and Dean couldn't stand it.

"I think we can go now," Father Gil said, his voice laced with satisfaction.

"Yes," Casey agreed softly. She leaned down and murmured, "Sorry, Dean. I did try. And this is quicker than he was planning, believe me."

Her fingers were cold against his face for a moment, then they were gone, and so was she.

Dean fought for air that couldn't seem to reach his lungs, choking horribly on his blood and finding himself unable to turn his head enough to spit it out. The world was starting to darken around him.

"Dean! _Dean_!"

For a moment, Dean genuinely thought it was a hallucination. Then he was selfishly glad that it wasn't. He'd never wanted Sam to see this, but god, it was good to see him. Even though Sam was crying, salt falling onto Dean's face, about the only thing he could feel beyond the pain.

"No no no," Sam was saying. There was a flash of agony as Sam touched his chest, as if looking for a wound he could put pressure on, Dean thought dazedly, but there wasn't one. Dean tried to open his mouth, to say something, anything, but found himself wheezing instead, fighting for breath.

"Oh Jesus, Dean, _breathe_," Sam ordered, then he was sealing his lips across Dean's.

Dean could feel Sam forcing air into his mouth, but it still didn't seem to be reaching his burning lungs. Even the sensation of Sam's lips against his own was growing dimmer now, fading into grey.

"Don't you dare leave me," he heard Sam tell him. "Damnit, Dean, stay with me! _Dean_!"

_Sam_, Dean tried to say, trying to obey, but there was nothing left, only...

Darkness.

~*~

"DEAN!" Sam yelled again, begging now, almost choking on his own tears and fury and desperation.

They were supposed to have another two months. He was supposed to have another two months with his brother, and he was supposed to save him so they could spend the rest of their lives together, and how the hell could Dean be dying right in front of him?

He pressed his lips to Dean's again, frantically trying to force air into his brother's lungs, refusing to give up, despite the taste of Dean's blood warm in his mouth. Refusing to give up, even now that Dean had gone still and the sound of his choking had stopped.

"Dean," he said again, against his brother's mouth, more a sob than anything else. "_Dean_!"

He was crying helplessly now, hands clutching Dean's face and smoothing back his hair, his mouth pressing to Dean's again, not so much mouth-to-mouth this time as simply seeking a connection, seeking anything, any last sign of life. Almost a kiss, the first time he'd kissed his brother since he was eight, Dean's blood warm in his mouth and on his lips.

"Don't leave me," Sam whispered again against his brother's lips, but when he pulled back, Dean was still staring sightlessly up at the dark sky.

He didn't know how long he sat there, tasting tears and his brother's blood. For the first time in ten months, the clock had stopped ticking.

~*~

"...The hell?" Dean said.

Sam didn't reply. Dean couldn't exactly blame him: he clearly had other things on his mind. Like the fact that he was currently crying over Dean's bloody corpse.

...Yeah, Dean didn't really know what to do with that either.

"Seriously," Dean said weakly, tearing his eyes away from Sam and... himself... and staring around wildly, disbelievingly, almost expecting someone to appear and tell him what the hell was going on. "Seriously, the hell?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Seriously," Dean said weakly, tearing his eyes away from Sam and... himself... and staring around wildly, disbelievingly, almost expecting someone to appear and tell him what the hell was going on. "Seriously, the hell?"

There was nothing. Other than Sam and himself, the alleyway was deserted.

"Dean," Sam whispered, almost a sob, and Dean couldn't stand it, could never stand seeing his brother in so much pain. He forced himself to turn back and look at the scene again.

So, he... really wasn't looking good at all. In fact, he was looking pretty damn dead. _So much for dying young and leaving a good-looking corpse_, he thought half-hysterically.

Sam, though. Sam was looking alive, but otherwise not a hell of a lot better. He had Dean's blood smeared on his hands and face, and he was crying uncontrollably.

"Sam," Dean said helplessly, reaching out for his brother, not even thinking, just _needing _to touch him, to comfort him.

He'd figured out that he was dead. So it shouldn't have been a shock when his hand passed right through Sam, but it was. Dean jumped back, breathing hard, staring wildly between his hand and Sam.

Oh, Jesus, he was dead. He was _dead_.

"Dean," Sam whispered again, his voice cracked and broken. "Dean, you can't leave me."

Dean took a deep breath and forced down his panic the same way he always had, by focusing on his brother. He stretched out his hand again, this time doing his best to just graze Sam's hair. He wasn't sure how well he succeeded, but Sam sucked in a deep breath too and swiped a hand across his face. Dean didn't have the heart to tell him that he was just smearing the blood around more. ...Not that he _could _tell him, anyway.

This being dead thing was going to take some getting used to.

Footsteps were suddenly approaching down the alleyway, and Dean looked up, hoping like hell that it wasn't Lisa, or, at the very least, that she had enough sense to keep Ben away. This wasn't something he wanted the kid seeing.

But it wasn't Lisa. It was Ruby.

Her eyes seemed darker than usual as she walked down the alley towards them. Dean noted, mildly offended, that she gave his body no more than a passing glance, staring instead at Sam with an intensity that made Dean uneasy. At least she wasn't smiling, not quite. Dean had always detested her smile.

Dean guessed from the way she passed him without so much as a glance that she couldn't see him. Well, it made sense, he supposed. Why would demons be able to see... ghosts? Was that what he was now?

Mostly to take his mind off that disturbing thought, Dean said loudly, "Hey. Bitch. Stay the hell away from my brother."

Not that he would have expected her to do what he said even if she could hear him, but the utter lack of any reaction convinced him that she couldn't.

Sam didn't look up as she approached. Dean kept a sharp eye on her.

"Sam," she said quietly.

He didn't reply, didn't acknowledge her, but Dean saw him curl a little tighter over the body - _his_ body, Jesus - and knew that he was aware of her presence.

"Sam," Ruby said more loudly, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone. "Listen -"

"Leave me alone," Sam said, his voice wavering.

"It's important," Ruby said firmly. "You need to listen to me, this -"

"_Leave me alone_."

Dean couldn't help but catch his breath at the tone of Sam's voice, the strange note in it that he'd never heard before. It seemed to make an impression on Ruby, too, judging by the way she flinched and took a swift step back.

"I don't want to talk to you right now," Sam continued, his voice taut with rage and despair. "I don't want to see you, I don't want you to come anywhere near me. _Shut up and go away and leave me alone_."

Ruby's face was twisted with fury and disbelief, and she opened her mouth as if to protest, but then, to Dean's shock, she turned and walked away down the alley, the sound of her footsteps echoing.

Dean tried and failed to think of any time when he'd seen her act like that before, seen her give up and simply concede defeat without so much as an argument. That just wasn't the Ruby he knew and loathed.

Which raised the question of what exactly she was up to.

And why she was heading for the warehouse the demons had been in.

Dean took a long look at Sam, who showed no signs of getting up any time soon, and then followed her.

Ruby was walking fast, her clipped stride and rigid posture telegraphing her fury, and Dean had to jog to catch up with her. It was only when he did so that he was completely convinced that she was unaware of his presence, because he knew she would never let him catch her muttering to herself, even if it wasn't anything more interesting than bitching about Sam.

She reached the warehouse and pulled open the same door Dean had entered earlier. Dean hesitated suddenly. If he followed her in, would he be able to get back out? Would he be able to open the door, or would he have to... go through it? _Could_ he even go through it?

The door started to swing shut behind her, and Dean made up his mind and rushed forward -

\- Only to collide with something a couple of feet away from the door.

"Jesus," he swore, rubbing his forehead, and stretched a hand out cautiously. There was definitely some kind of invisible barrier there, and it seemed to extend out on each side, as he felt carefully around him. He was pretty damn sure he'd have noticed if it had been there before. Unless the demons had put up some kind of... anti-ghost ward? It didn't exactly seem likely, especially since Ruby hadn't even been able to see him. Why would they have put up barriers against something that didn't exist for them?

The barrier suddenly shifted, shoving him back a couple of feet.

"The hell?" Dean said in alarm, holding his arm up as if to try to fend it off, slowly retreating back when it moved again. Okay, he'd never heard of a ward moving like that before, so that ruled that out.

He glanced behind him warily and paused. Sam had gotten up and was walking slowly towards the far end of the alley, presumably to talk to Lisa.

"No way," Dean said, staring at his brother, then glancing wildly back over his shoulder.

The barrier hit his back and shoved him forward another few feet.

"Oh, this is just awesome," Dean muttered, and started walking. Not only was he a freaking ghost, apparently he was haunting _Sam_.

Man, not being able to get any further away from Sam than this was probably going to get old real fast.

By the time Dean caught up with his brother, Sam was watching expressionlessly as Lisa and Ben drove off in a pink piece of scrap metal that was an offence to the name of 'car'. Dean felt a moment of regret that he wouldn't get to see Sam driving it, and then a sicker rush of horror as he realized he wouldn't be able to tease Sam about it or call him a princess or... anything. Ever again.

Being dead sucked _so hard_.

Sam turned around and headed back into the alley. Dean waited at the corner, fairly certain now what his brother was doing. Sure enough, after another few minutes staring at the body, Sam slowly picked it up and, staggering only slightly under the weight, began making his way back towards the street.

Dean backed up to the Impala, and Sam appeared a few minutes later. Getting the corpse into the back seat was quite a production - Dean felt oddly touched that Sam hadn't stuck him in the trunk instead, though he _really_ hoped they didn't encounter any police officers - but finally it was spread out along the bench. Dean took advantage of the delay to climb through the open door and shift over to the passenger side, sighing faintly with relief when he didn't fall right through it. He'd have to experiment with the whole passing-through-objects thing at some point, but he'd prefer not to be in a moving car at the time.

Sam settled into the driver's seat, adjusted the rear-view mirror to show the back seat, and stared into it for a long time. Then he bowed his head to rest against the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking.

Dean reached out, concentrating. When he focused hard enough, it almost felt as though he were touching Sam's back.

~*~

Sam took yet another corner too fast, and Dean cursed quietly under his breath.

It was quiet in the car, far too quiet. Dean wished Sam would say something, or put some music on - hell, even one of Sam's crappy tapes would do at this point, and considering Dean had already been forced to endure Britney Spears, that was a mark of desperation. Anything would be better than watching the expression on Sam's face as he drove through the darkness.

The Impala shuddered as Sam pulled it around another corner. It wasn't like him to drive so recklessly, but Dean could well remember the night he'd been in Sam's position, the way he'd driven on the way to the crossroads. He supposed he couldn't blame Sam, though if his brother managed to get them - well, himself - killed, Dean would kick his ass.

He thought uneasily of all the times he'd threatened to haunt Sam's ass if he ever damaged the Impala, and wished he'd kept his big mouth shut. Sam had better not get any clever ideas.

Suddenly, Sam slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt.

"Jesus Christ, Sam!" Dean yelled, doing his best not to go flying. "What the hell are you doing?"

There was no answer, of course. Sam had opened his door and was climbing out; Dean followed hastily, only then realizing where Sam had stopped the car.

At a crossroads.

"Oh no," Dean said, watching Sam open the trunk and rummage in it. "Oh no, Sam, don't do this, c'mon, man -"

Sam strode to the centre of the crossroads, his face set, and began digging a hole in the ground.

"Oh, Jesus," Dean muttered, looking around wildly.

"Not quite," a female voice said behind him.

Dean swung round to find her standing alarmingly close behind him, once again wearing the body of some pretty, dark-haired woman. He narrowed his eyes. He didn't think it was just a coincidence that she bore a striking resemblance to Casey this time. The bitch had a sick sense of humor.

"Dean," she sighed delightedly. "Dean, Dean, Dean. I knew I was giving you a bargain when I offered a year. I really should have held out for lower, if you were going to throw your life away this early. I have to say, I didn't think even you'd settle for _this _low."

His every instinct was screaming at him to put distance between them, but Dean wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of seeing him back away from her. Damned if he would run from her, not even a step. "What can I say? I've never been one for hanging around. I guess you get to take me early."

She laughed, her eyes flashing red for a moment. "Tempting, tempting. Sadly, that's not how it works. You've still got two months, Dean. Of course, now it's two months of hanging around, seeing all the things you can't have any more, watching Sam grieve..."

Dean held his cocky grin with an effort, determined not to let her see any of her taunts hit home.

"Two months with no one to talk to but yourself," she continued happily. "Two months of going slowly insane, two months of _uselessness_. I have to say, Dean, you've exceeded even my wildest hopes for you. I couldn't have arranged it better myself."

"So you didn't arrange it, then?" Dean asked, keeping his tone casual.

Something that looked like genuine surprise flashed across her face for a moment before vanishing. "I don't break my bargains. Oh, I find the whole thing _hilarious_, yes, but it's none of my doing."

"But you can see me, which apparently doesn't come as part of the standard demon package," Dean pointed out.

"No, that came with the owning-your-soul package." She smiled slowly. "Sorry, Dean. I guess sometimes these things just happen. Call it happy chance."

"Hey!" Sam yelled from the centre of the crossroads, and for a moment Dean thought he was responding to what the bitch had said, but the way Sam was turning to look in all directions quickly killed that notion.

"So he can't see you?" he asked, still watching Sam.

"Not if I don't want him to," she said, and laughed. "I don't know if I'm taking calls tonight. I feel like I should take the night off or something. Celebrate, you know?"

_Maybe for the best_, Dean thought to himself. If she refused to answer Sam's summons, his brother couldn't try making any stupid deals.

"Yes," she drawled. "I think it might be more fun to let him suffer. Just look at him, Dean: so much grief, _waves _of anguish just rolling off him... You Winchesters all do suffering _so _well. And now he's the last one. A treat to savor as long as possible, I think. He'll be back."

Dean's reply was lost as Sam yelled, "Damnit, _show yourself_! Now!"

The demon stiffened with what sounded to Dean like a shocked gasp, and Sam wheeled round to stare right at her.

~*~

She appeared at the edge of the crossroads, close to the Impala, and Sam tried to restrain the hatred that bubbled up in him at the sight of her, forcing himself to concentrate on his relief that she'd appeared at all. For a few minutes there, he'd thought she was just going to leave him to suffer.

"Sam Winchester," she said, with a dangerous half-smile, and moved slowly towards him. "What an... unexpected pleasure."

Sam held his ground as she approached. "I want him back."

Her smile took on a sharper twist. "Did your mother never teach you manners? Oh - I suppose not. Issuing orders, not so much as a hello... I don't like being dictated to, you know."

Sam ignored her taunting entirely. "I want him back. You promised him twelve months, and there are still two left. By taking him now, you've voided the deal. Bring him back."

She laughed out loud, sounding almost delighted now. "Oh, Sam! You're really trying to get him out of his deal on a _technicality_? That's... almost sweet. Of course, you were studying to become a lawyer, weren't you? During those years you abandoned the very brother you're begging for now?"

He suspected it was only his anger which stopped him from flinching at that one. The bitch had a real talent for sensing someone's weaknesses.

"Funny how you don't know what you got till it's gone, isn't it?" she said mockingly. "You seem to make that mistake a lot, don't you, Sam? Barely managed to exchange a civil sentence with Daddy Dearest until he traded in _his _soul..."

"I said," Sam repeated slowly, "that I want him back. You had no right to take him yet."

"I didn't take him," the demon said, and laughed at his expression. "Oh, Sam, surely you didn't really think it would be that simple? This wasn't my doing. Believe me, you won't be able to wriggle out of this on a technicality. Actually, I did wonder if _you_ might have killed him - in the hope that I'd fall into that very trap. Because you've been getting desperate, haven't you, Sam? Desperate enough to kill your own brother?"

Sam fought down a wave of nausea. He was pretty sure that he lost the battle to keep it from showing on his face this time, but it was just all too close, too soon since he'd watched Dean breathe his last, since he'd tasted his brother's blood in his mouth. And feeling all the sicker because if he'd thought it would work... No, he wouldn't have done it, not now, probably not even in two months' time. But at that point, he might at least have considered it.

God, what did that make him?

"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt," she said with an air of condescending generosity. "Part of Dean's deal was that you'd drop dead if there was any cheating, but since I've no _proof_ that you killed him, I'll turn a blind eye, just this once. Though you really ought to be a bit more careful in future, Sam."

Sam could only glare at her, furious and helpless. If what she was saying was true and she hadn't taken Dean, then he couldn't use that to force her to bring his brother back.

Dean was dead, and there was nothing he could do.

"_So _nice talking to you," the demon said, her voice sharp with malicious satisfaction. She turned and began sauntering away, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Oh - but next time, Sam, make sure to ask nicely instead of ordering. Or you could be waiting for a very long time."

And as suddenly as she'd appeared, she was gone.

Sam stood staring into space for a long moment before his rage took him. He spun around and kicked a large rock beside the crossroads, and again, and again.

Then he collapsed to the ground and stopped fighting back his tears.

~*~

By the time they drew up at Bobby's, it was late the next night; Sam had been forced to take more back-routes than usual, with the body in the back seat. Dean was seriously relieved that they hadn't encountered any police officers. Although possibly that was selfish; maybe his dead body would be enough to get Sam out of his problems with the FBI.

What the hell. It wasn't like he could tell Sam about that awesome idea, anyway.

He hadn't even thought about the fact that Bobby didn't know what had happened until Bobby emerged from the house, shotgun in hand, and stopped short at the sight of Sam sitting alone - well, as far as he would be able to tell - in the front seat of the Impala. Dean figured one look at the expression on Sam's face would be enough to clue Bobby in.

He wasn't really expecting just how pale Bobby went, though, or how slowly he walked to the side of the car and looked in, then leaned heavily against the roof, bowing his head.

There was silence for a long moment. Dean felt oddly awkward, like an intruder, and had to shake his head at the weirdness of it all.

"C'mon inside," Bobby said eventually, his voice gruffer than usual. He patted the roof of the Impala once and then turned and headed slowly back indoors.

Sam stayed where he was for a few minutes longer, staring straight ahead, then obeyed. Dean followed.

Bobby had broken out the good whiskey and poured a glass for Sam. Dean felt weirdly honored. And slightly bitter that he wouldn't be able to have any of it himself. He wondered where the hell ghosts went for a stiff drink.

"To Dean," Bobby said quietly, raising his glass, then downed most of it in one go and topped it up again.

"Dean," Sam said, even more softly, and took a sip of his own.

They drank in silence for several minutes before Bobby finally broke it. "What happened?"

Sam haltingly told him what he knew. Dean was surprised to remember just how little that was - that Dean had gone to the warehouse to find Ben, and that the demon had been called Stacey, with dark hair and pale skin. For his part, Dean had almost forgotten that Casey had been going by another name.

"He must have gotten Ben out," Sam said finally. "Ben was hiding by the Impala when I got there. I found - I found Dean in the alley." He paused for a moment, swallowing hard, before he continued, "Whoever she was, she was already gone when I got there."

Bobby shook his head and took a another gulp of whiskey. "Saving the kid like that... I reckon it's how he would have wanted to go out. He always did take the cases with kids to heart."

Sam looked up from his glass, eyes burning with something like fury. "He's _dead_, Bobby. He -" He choked off the end of the sentence.

Bobby sighed. "He only had two months left, Sam." His voice was regretful, but firm. "We've spent ten months searching for a way out of that deal, and we've come up with nothing. And that demon friend of yours, she's always talked a good game about helping to save him, but she's never really come through with it, has she? You ain't told me much about anything she's told you or showed you when you two are off alone together, but I reckon you'd have done something by now if she'd showed you a way."

Dean narrowed his eyes and glared at Sam. Sam hadn't told him about what he and Ruby were up to, but that had been due to the risk of the deal being broken and Sam dying. Dean had assumed that his brother was at least talking to Bobby, had in fact been counting on Bobby's advice to keep Sam from doing anything too stupid. As much as he'd distrusted Ruby and her motives, he'd always reassured himself that Bobby wouldn't let things get out of hand.

"A lot can happen in two months," Sam said, his voice taut with anger. "We were getting closer. I don't care if saving a kid is the way he'd like to go out or not, he had _no right_ to just -"

He broke off again, and Dean could see him shaking.

"I remember back in that ghost town, when Dean... lost you," Bobby said after a moment. "I thought about the way he grieved for your daddy, and I thought I knew what I was expecting. Thought I had an idea how to help him, or at least get through to him."

Dean fought the urge to walk out of the room. He _hated_ talking about the time Sam had been gone, even when no one knew he was there or expected him to take part in the conversation.

"I was wrong," Bobby said, finally. "I shoulda known, really; you always were his world. I never thought he'd go as far as he did, never even occurred to me. I knew exactly why he did it, though. Sam... don't you do what he did, okay? It has to end somewhere. Dean made his choice. Only way to undo it would be go one further than him, and he wouldn't want that for you."

"What are you saying?" Sam asked quietly.

"I'm saying it's time to let your brother go," Bobby said, meeting his eyes. "I'm saying I don't want to see you go the way he did." He took another mouthful of whiskey, before adding slowly, "I'm saying that, come morning, we should take Dean out to where you boys cremated your daddy, and put him to rest."

Dean looked at Sam, who was staring at Bobby as if he'd never seen him before. "Bobby, I... Look, I'm not going to do anything stupid, okay? You don't need to worry about that."

"Oh, yeah, you're the poster child for sensible, Sam," Dean muttered. "Going to the crossroads like that counts as stupid, believe me. Hell, it counts as fucking _moronic_, so don't try to pull that bullshit."

"I just - I just can't... think about that tonight," Sam continued, looking down at his glass. "Can we just... wait until morning?"

"Sure," Bobby said gently. "You should get some shut-eye. You ain't slept since you left here, have you?"

"No time," Sam admitted.

"If you don't want to use that room, I can make up the sofa," Bobby offered carefully.

Sam flinched, but recovered quickly. "No, the room's - fine. It'll be fine. Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby nodded. "You know where I am..." He left the offer hanging in the air.

"Thanks," Sam said again quietly.

Bobby headed off towards his own room. Sam stayed where he was, staring at the whiskey glass in his hand, though Dean didn't think he was seeing it.

Dean sighed. Watching Sam going through this was hell, and he was beginning to see exactly why the crossroads demon had been so gleeful at the prospect of him hanging around as a ghost for two months.

He thought again of how close he'd come to heading back into the warehouse, despite knowing it would almost certainly result in his death; how the thought of Sam had been the main reason he'd decided not to. Partly because he'd wanted to have those last two months with his brother, and partly because he hadn't wanted to put Sam through this. Of course, his decision hadn't made a difference in the end. But he'd still made it and that counted for something, because he didn't think he'd be able to handle the guilt if he'd chosen to do this to Sam.

_Maybe that's one reason why so many ghosts of suicides start causing problems. They go mad from the guilt._

"Sammy," he said out loud. It was weird enough knowing no one else could hear him; if he didn't say things aloud anyway, he thought he probably _would _go mad. "Sam, you need sleep. C'mon, you haven't slept in how long, dude? Go to bed."

Sam sighed and downed the rest of his glass of whiskey, then set the glass down with a _clack_ and got to his feet.

"Huh," Dean said. "You know, I think that's the first time you've done what I told you without arguing since you were ten? And getting killed was all it took, who knew."

He followed Sam to the bedroom they always shared when they were staying at Bobby's, which had been happening more and more often over the past year. He kept close behind Sam so that he'd be able to slip through the door before his brother closed it, but he needn't have worried. Sam's movements were slow, and when he opened the door to the spare bedroom, he stopped entirely.

"C'mon, Sam, you can do this," Dean said, and wished like hell, yet again, that he could touch his brother. It was kind of ironic, because he'd never considered himself a touchy-feely kind of guy, but it was only now that he _couldn't_ touch Sam that he realized how much he'd always relied on being able to press a hand against his brother's back or clap him on the shoulder.

Sam shuddered once, then stepped slowly into the room, and Dean slipped past before his brother shut the door.

~*~

He'd told Bobby it would be fine, but it was harder being back in this room than he'd expected.

Sam had thought that after driving the Impala, the worst was behind him, and that _had_ been worse, far worse. The Impala was so much a part of Dean that getting behind the wheel and driving her all the way back to Bobby's house had almost been too much for him.

He hadn't expected the room to be anything like as hard. The two of them had stayed there a lot, sure, but it wasn't like... a home, or anything.

And yet. There was a knife lying on the cabinet on Dean's side of the bed, which his brother had mentioned he wanted to work a nick out of. And beside it, a tangle of various electrical components - Sam didn't even have a clue what they were, other than some gadget Dean had been working on. Some of Dean's clothes were still draped over the back of one of the chairs, and Dean's side of the bed was still rumpled and creased, since Sam had decided there was no way he was going to be the one to make the bed after Dean had taken off to Cicero.

Sam took a deep breath, feeling his eyes burning.

He stripped down to his boxer shorts mechanically, trying not to think any more. Forcing himself to slip into the bed was almost as hard as forcing himself climb behind the Impala's steering wheel had been, but he did it. He could do this. He snapped the light off and lay down, keeping to his own side of the bed.

The room was too small for two queens, but he and Dean had never had a problem with sharing, bar an occasional fight over who was stealing all the covers. They'd slept in enough rough quarters over the years to be grateful for a bed where they could get one. And Sam had always taken a certain comfort in it, despite the lack of space: it brought back memories of sleeping together in the back seat of the Impala as kids, with their father driving and humming along with the radio, safe and warm. And this year, Sam had needed that - the knowledge that he was losing his brother was easier to cope with when Dean was _right there_, taking up far too much space and occasionally muttering something ridiculous in his sleep.

And now the other side of the bed was empty.

Sam closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep. He knew Bobby was right that it had been far too long since he'd slept, and it was true he was exhausted. But it was impossible to relax into sleep with no one there to tug on the covers or kick his leg when turning over, or any of the other annoyances that would normally keep him awake.

He lay in the dark for a long time, waiting for sleep to claim him, then gave up and began pulling his clothes back on.

~*~

So, it turned out that whoever came up with that "sleep when I'm dead" line? Was a total fucking _liar_.

Dean was feeling cheated. Sleeping had always been one of his favorite activities - at least when he didn't have something even better to do. Finding out it was yet another thing he could no longer do was a hard blow.

_Chalk up boredom as another reason why ghosts go fucking crazy._

He lay on top of the bed next to Sam for half an hour - he couldn't even claim a share of the blanket now, let alone get under it, which he supposed was fair enough given that he couldn't seem to feel the cold, but still, it was the _principle_ of the thing: he was entitled to half the blanket, damnit. Eventually, though, he gave up. Sleep was apparently out.

And since he was trapped inside the room until Sam got up, it looked like it was time to indulge his morbid curiosity - ha, he slayed himself - and see what else he could and couldn't do now that he was vitally challenged.

He'd kind of been putting it off, because the thought of trying to walk through something freaked him the hell out - it had been bad enough when his hand had passed through Sam when he'd tried to touch him back in the alley. But he didn't much like being trapped, either, and trying to scramble out of the Impala before Sam closed his door was getting old real fast.

Dean took a deep breath. _What the hell_.

He walked over to the door and stretched out a hand, letting it hover gingerly just above the surface. He hesitated like that for a moment, then forced himself to push his hand forward. Part of him was still expecting it to meet the solid surface of the door and stop, but instead his hand slipped right through.

He yanked his hand back at once, and stared at it. It looked no different and no less solid than it had before, but he'd felt it pass right through the door, faintly felt the texture and grain of the wood around him, _inside_ him. _Jesus_.

He tried it again, slower this time, better prepared for the sensation. It was weird as hell, but the feeling of passing through something didn't seem quite as horrible as the _idea_ of it did. He pushed his arm through up to the shoulder, then brought it back into the room and tried sticking a leg through the door instead.

"Fine, it works," Dean muttered to himself. "Nothing to it, see? Nothing to freak out about. So quit pussy-footing around and walk through the damn thing."

It was hard to bring himself to do it, though; his brain still wasn't entirely convinced it was a good idea. After the second time he'd walked up to the door and then stopped to think about it some more, Dean was so annoyed with himself that he backed up to the end of the bed and took a run at it.

He barely had time to shudder at the feeling of the wood around him before he was through it. He'd been bracing himself to meet resistance, however, and the complete lack of it threw him off-balance; instead of stopping on the other side of the door, before he knew what was happening he had plunged through the banister on the opposite side of the hallway, fallen right _through_ the stairs, and stumbled through the wall of the closet he'd landed in to arrive in the living room.

"...Fuck me," Dean said out loud, and sat down on the floor to recover for a moment. Damn, but he could _really_ use some of Bobby's good whiskey right about now.

It was a few minutes before he could stop focusing on the way it had felt, passing through it all, and start trying to think about why he seemed able to pass through some things and not others. He'd sat in the Impala with Sam and hadn't fallen through it - which was just as well, because god knew how he'd have managed to stay with Sam otherwise - and he'd lain on the bed next to his brother too. For that matter, he hadn't disappeared through the floor until the thing with the stairs, and he'd managed to walk up them earlier on.

Maybe it was something to do with what he was expecting. He hadn't even thought about falling through the Impala, so he hadn't, and it hadn't occurred to him while going up the stairs earlier, either. Whereas he'd been focused on passing through things when he'd gone through the door, and so he'd gone through everything else, too.

It was a bit rough and ready as theories went, but since he couldn't exactly consult Bobby or Sam, he would settle for it until a better one came along.

Of course, the bonus of his logic was that if he concentrated, he could probably get up off the floor and try to sit down on Bobby's couch, instead, which _might_ be marginally more comfortable. He looked over at it. Well, maybe it wouldn't, but he should probably try it anyway.

He took his time about it, though, sitting down gingerly and bracing himself in case he fell right through. When he didn't, he heaved a shaky sigh of relief and laughed quietly at himself, then sprawled out across the couch, sticking his arms behind his head and relaxing for what felt like the first time in a while.

Upstairs, a door clicked open and shut again, and Dean heard the unmistakable sound of Sam's footsteps padding towards the stairs. A few moments later, Sam walked past the entrance to the living room and went out the front door, shutting it quietly behind him.

Looked like Dean was going to have to put his new-found skills to the test again. Damn.

But the front door turned out to be piece of cake compared to his little trip through the stairs before, largely because there was nothing else to fall through on the other side; after a brief, unreal moment he was through it, and took a second to shudder and get a hold of himself again before heading towards the Impala.

For a moment, Dean wondered whether Sam was actually planning to take off in the middle of the night, but he relaxed slightly when Sam slid into the passenger side of the car instead, closing the door behind him and turning sideways to curl up against the door.

Dean grimaced, but gamely moved through the other door and sat down as best he could on the driver's seat. He had a suspicion he was sitting _in_ the seat for a few seconds before he got the hang of it, but it wasn't too bad. His girl was much more nicer to pass through than anything else he'd tried so far, he thought smugly. Though he'd still be happier if Sam hadn't dragged him out here.

"You're a fucking jerk, Dean," Sam said.

Dean jumped and turned to his brother, but Sam wasn't looking at him - he was staring over the back of the bench. At Dean's body.

"What happened to not speaking ill of the dead?" Dean wondered aloud, doing his best to stay flippant.

"Bobby thinks you gave up, threw your life away," Sam said. "Oh, he didn't put it quite like that, but it's what he meant. And I don't know what to think. I don't want to think you'd do that, but... but you've never valued your own life as much as you should."

"Hey, I valued my life," Dean said, feeling vaguely insulted. "Okay, maybe I took a few risks now and then, but that's the way the job goes."

"The thought of you throwing your life away..." Sam continued, "...it makes me so angry I could punch you, you dick."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that, Sammy."

"We still had two months," Sam said. His voice shook. "I still had two months to find a way to save you, Dean. Or two months together, either way. You really threw that away? It was that pointless?"

"I _didn't_, Sam," Dean said, his humor fading. "Damnit, I didn't, all right? I chose to fucking live and come back to you, and I didn't mean for things to go down the way they did. Okay?"

"I don't want to think that," Sam said quietly. "It makes me want to - Jesus, Dean. I don't want to believe it. But either way, you're still gone. You still left me alone, and _that_ was always in your game plan. And how _dare_ you think I'd be less broken by your death than you were by mine?"

Dean swallowed. There wasn't much he could say to that.

"I miss you, you jerk," Sam whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know what to _do_!"

Dean couldn't stand it. He leaned over to his brother, knowing it was useless but unable to help trying to touch him. At the same moment, Sam leaned forwards to bury his head in his hands -

And passed right through Dean.

Dean jerked back with a gasp, still reeling from the sense of _Sam_ in and around him, grief and fury and an ache that took his breath away.

Sam slammed back against the door, staring ahead, eyes wide.

_Jesus Christ_, Dean thought.

Sam swallowed hard, moistened his lips. "Dean...?" he whispered, almost soundlessly.

_Please_, Dean thought, wishing as hard as he ever had, and moved forward.

Slipping into Sam was nothing like passing through anything else. Dean could feel the blood rushing through his brother's veins, the pulse of his grief, the faint spark of his hope. He could feel _Sam_, all through him.

He pulled back before the sensation overwhelmed him completely. Sam had his eyes closed, and though he was very pale, there was a faint smile on his lips.

"Dean," he said, softly but more certain. He opened his eyes, and laughed a little nervously. "Jesus, tell me I'm not going crazy, man."

"You've always been crazy," Dean replied weakly, and tried not to be disappointed when Sam clearly didn't hear him. What had he expected, after all?

"Okay," Sam said. "Okay. Maybe I _am _going crazy, but... I know what we can try."

~*~

"Oh man, you gotta be kidding me," Dean said.

"Okay, I know it's a bit makeshift, but it worked at the hospital back when you were in that coma, remember?" Sam said. "So get over it and let's try it."

Yeah, Dean remembered. Rather more than he expected to, in fact; he not only remembered Sam telling him about it when he woke up, he could also remember now what it had been like, being out of his body. And the Ouija board had been ridiculous enough back then.

Sam scribbled _YES_ on another post-it and stuck it on the corner of the upside-down chess board he'd fetched from the tiny bookcase in their bedroom, then set a shot glass upside-down in the centre of the board.

Dean gave a gusty sigh and sat down on the floor opposite Sam. "There has _got_ to be a better way than this, dude. If I'd remembered how stupid this was after the last time, I'd have made you research it."

"Dean?" Sam said softly, pressing his fingers to the glass.

"All right, all right," Dean grumbled, and reached out.

His fingers went right through the glass.

"_Damnit_," Dean hissed, yanking his hands back and glaring at them. "I knew practicing going through things was a bad idea."

"...Dean?" Sam said again, more uncertainly.

Dean couldn't stand the doubt creeping into his brother's voice. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and reached out again.

When he felt cool glass under his fingers and heard his brother inhale sharply, he breathed out slowly and risked opening his eyes again. Moving the glass was _hard_, and as he shifted it slowly across to the _YES_ post-it, Dean had time to wonder whether it was because it wasn't a proper Ouija board, or whether it was because he was dead and not just disembodied this time.

Sam made a choked sound, somewhere between laughter and crying. "Dean, oh god. You have _got_ to stop doing this to me, man."

Dean couldn't help the wry grin spreading across his face. God, it was good to talk to his brother, even in such a ridiculous and stupidly slow way. He carefully spelled out his message.

_NOT MY IDEA_

The smile faded from Sam's face. "Wasn't it? I - I didn't want to believe you were trying to... but I wasn't sure, not completely. _Were_ you trying to... you know...?"

Dean's grin vanished too. He needed Sam to understand this; he hadn't realized how important it was until he'd heard Sam talking in the Impala. He dragged the glass over to _NO_.

Sam nodded jerkily. "Good. I just... Good. Okay. I'm glad." He took a deep breath and let it out again, then laughed a little. "God, I don't even know where to start, now."

"Know the feeling," Dean muttered, and waited for his brother to sort through his thoughts.

"Okay, so... we have to figure out a way to get you back," Sam said after a moment.

Dean stared at him, then turned to the board. _DEAD_, he spelled out, in case Sam had missed the obvious.

Sam snorted, though it sounded a bit too close to tears for Dean's liking. "I had noticed, believe it or not. Didn't stop you from bringing me back, though, did it? We just have to find a way."

_Oh shit_, Dean thought. Much as he didn't particularly want to be dead, he _really_ didn't want Sam doing anything stupid.

_NO DEAL_

"You're a bit of a hypocrite, Dean," Sam said, his voice thin. "Do as I say, not as I do, huh?" He didn't give Dean a chance to spell anything out, just went straight on. "I won't trade my soul, okay? I won't do that. But if I have to make a deal, I'll make one. And you're not exactly in a position to stop me right now."

Dean cursed under his breath. Sam was looking straight ahead, and Dean could read the set of his jaw. He wasn't going to be able to talk his brother out of it. Especially when he could only talk via a goddamn _Ouija board_.

_NOT LIFE_, he spelled out.

Sam hesitated, but nodded. "Okay, I won't trade that either. If only because I know you'd just -" He cut off as Dean started moving the glass again.

_DEAL LAST RESORT_

Sam raised his head again, staring right at where Dean was sitting, and Dean held his breath.

"Okay," Sam said eventually. "Okay, I'll try to find another way first. But I mean it, Dean, it that's what it takes, that's what I'm going to do. There's got to be a way." He sighed, then asked hesitantly, as if afraid of bringing up bad memories, "Dean... who did it?"

_WHY_

"Why?!" Sam repeated disbelievingly. "Because I'm going to kill them, that's why. They _murdered_ you, Dean. It was a demon, wasn't it? Which one?"

Dean thought about it. Casey had given him a chance, and he was sure she hadn't known Father Gil was waiting in the alley. Well, pretty sure. But even if he didn't owe her anything, the last thing he wanted was for Sam to go chasing after those two. It was too dangerous, particularly if Sam really had been their real target.

_NOT IMPORTANT_, he spelled out slowly.

"'Not important'?" Sam repeated. "Not _important_? Dean - Jesus, okay, I get that you want to protect me or whatever, okay? But that demon is still out there, hurting people. It _killed_ you, and I'm not going to sit back and just - accept that!" He chuckled grimly, a sound that made Dean feel cold. "Guess I'm too much of a Winchester for that. Besides... maybe whoever it was could bring you back, with the right... incentive. It's worth a try."

Dean stared at his brother. He understood where Sam was coming from. And though he didn't think Casey or Father Gil had the power to bring him back from the dead, he wasn't completely certain.

But it wasn't worth risking Sam's life.

_NO_

"Fine," Sam said, shaking his head. "I'll figure it out for myself. Okay, I'll talk to Bobby in the morning, see if he can think of any other options, and work out what to do with... with your body until we get this... sorted out. Ice, maybe."

Dean looked at him, at the hope shining in his eyes, the purpose and resolve in the lines of his face, and hoped Sam wasn't getting his hopes up too far.

_SLEEP_

Sam laughed, a little nervously. "I don't know if I can. I..." He swallowed, and continued more quietly, "Don't laugh, okay, but... part of me still thinks if I close my eyes, you'll be gone."

Dean didn't feel like laughing. He could still remember far too clearly how he'd felt when Sam had come back, after his deal: how he hadn't wanted to even blink, how letting Sam out of his sight for a moment had been unthinkable.

_MISSED YOU TOO_, he spelled out.

Sam gave a watery smile. "If I'd known what the price would be for getting you to have a chick-flick moment..."

Dean laughed. God, it was good to have his brother back again.

_SLEEP_

Sam sighed. "Fine, I'll try. You... you'll stay here? You won't be gone when I wake up?"

_HERE_, Dean spelled out.

"Okay," Sam said again, and took his hands off the shot glass, his movements slow and reluctant, before walking over to the bed, shrugging wearily out of his clothes for the second time that night.

Dean concentrated for a moment before he tried lying down on his side, still mindful of the way his hand had gone through the shot glass. He guessed he was going to have to practice controlling the whole touching/passing through thing some more. But not tonight, not when Sam had asked him to stay.

"Night, Dean," Sam said, snapping off the light.

Dean turned over onto his side so he could look at him. "Night, Sammy." He watched his brother's body slowly lose its tension, his breathing starting to even out.

"Least I don't have to fight you for the blanket," Sam murmured, his voice blurred with sleep.

Dean laughed, and for the first time began to hope that things might work out okay.


	3. Chapter 3

When Sam blinked open his eyes, sunlight was glaring in through the window of the spare room. He groaned and threw an arm across his face, then sat up abruptly as everything came flooding back to him.

"Dean," he whispered.

The makeshift Ouija board was still lying on the floor where he'd left it during the night, but there was no other sign that any of it had been real.

"_Dean_," he said, a bit louder, hearing the panic bleeding into his voice, but unable to hold it back.

Then the feeling of _Dean_ he'd experienced in the Impala during the night was back. It was impossible to describe even to himself, the sensation of Dean around him, inside him, but it reminded him a little of Dean hugging him when they were young, his big brother's warmth surrounding him. This feeling was, if anything, slightly cold, but he could still feel Dean's presence, sense the reassurance offered as clearly as if Dean had said _Chill, Sammy_.

Sam took a deep breath and opened his eyes as the sensation faded again a moment later, relieved beyond words. His gaze was drawn to the Ouija board, where the shot glass was now moving from one letter to the next.

_CHILL. STILL HAUNTING YOUR ASS_

Sam laughed shakily. "And I didn't even have to trash your car."

The glass jerked across to _NO_ so fast that it toppled over and rolled off onto the floor.

Sam grinned and got out of bed, stretching. He felt a thousand times better than he had the previous day, and he knew it wasn't just the sleep. "I'm gonna grab a quick shower, then we can go and talk to Bobby, okay?" He picked the shot glass up and set it back on the board.

_BORED_, the glass spelled out. _SLEEP WHEN DEAD TOTAL LIE_.

"Just... stay out of trouble until I've had a shower," Sam warned him. "The last thing we want is Bobby mistaking you for a poltergeist and going for the salt. Okay?"

The glass was motionless for a few moments before it slid sulkily to _YES_.

"Okay, I'll be right back," Sam said, and headed for the bathroom, picking up speed when he thought about all the mischief a bored Dean tended to get up to. A bored, ghostly Dean? Now that was a recipe for disaster.

But the room seemed fairly intact when Sam returned from his shower, still scrubbing the towel across his hair.

"Dean?" he asked nonetheless, and held his breath until the glass shuddered its way over to _YES_. He wondered how long it would take to break that habit. He suspected it would be a while.

"Okay," he said, dressing hastily, "we should go talk to Bobby. You think you could do the same thing with him that you did last night and when I woke up? It might be the quickest way to convince him I'm not going crazy."

The glass shot across to _NO_. Then slowly spelled out _DUDE_.

Sam reconsidered hastily. It was true that the sensation had been kind of... overwhelming. And since as far as he could figure out it must have been caused by Dean passing through him... Okay, he could see why Dean wasn't ready to get that... intimate, for lack of a better word, with someone else. The idea kind of bothered him too.

"Fine," he said. "I'll take the board down, you can use that."

Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee when Sam walked in. He looked up sharply, his eyes sweeping over Sam assessingly before narrowing. Sam wasn't really surprised. Bobby didn't miss much, and the difference in his emotional state compared to when he'd arrived the previous night was bound to be obvious.

"How are you feeling?" Bobby asked, pouring a second mug of coffee and passing it across the table.

"Better," Sam said honestly, sitting down opposite him. He set the folded-up chess board on the chair next to him and accepted the mug, taking a grateful sip. "Bobby... Dean's here."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"He's here," Sam repeated. "A spirit, I guess. I made a kind of Ouija board and we talked. Look, I promise I'm not crazy, okay?"

"I know you ain't crazy, Sam," Bobby said, leaning back in his chair and looking around the room assessingly. "You're not the type. And you've seen too much to fall for grief-induced hallucinations and the like."

His tone was not exactly overjoyed, and Sam frowned. "Okay, good. So we just need to figure out how to bring him back. Have you got any ideas?"

Bobby eyed him in silence, long enough for Sam to feel slightly uncomfortable, then said with alarming gentleness, "Sam, Dean's dead."

"I know that," Sam said defensively. "But he's here -"

"Don't change the fact that he's dead," Bobby said inexorably. "Death's not something you can just mess around with."

"You're saying we should just... leave him like this?" Sam said in disbelief.

"I'm saying I stand by what I said last night about taking his body out to that clearing," Bobby said quietly. "All the more so, if he's not at rest. Bringing him back... it can't be done, Sam. Not without -"

He cut off and Sam watched him like a hawk, his mind racing. "Not without what?"

"Not without doing something Dean would never forgive you for," Bobby told him, and rubbed wearily at his forehead. "You think you could murder someone so as to bind a Reaper, force it to bring him back? Or are you thinking about trading away your soul, too, same way Dean did? Or I guess you could bring him back as a zombie, see how many people you can stand by and let him kill before you force yourself to take him out. Or maybe it's necromancy you're thinking of dabbling in, see if you can find something there? Or -"

"_Enough_," Sam said, his voice strained.

"I'm sorry," Bobby said after a few moments of silence. "I truly am. Dean was... But bringing someone back from the dead - there's always a price, Sam. And it's always too high. For a reason."

"I don't... I wouldn't do anything like that," Sam said quietly. "Bobby, I'm not - that's not what I'm talking about. But there's got to be some other way. I can't just give up, not when he's here, not when there's a chance. I've got to try."

Bobby sighed. "I was afraid you were gonna put it like that. But you gotta be careful, Sam."

"I will," Sam promised. "So... you'll help?"

"Goes against my better judgement," Bobby said. "But I'll do what I can, see if I can come up with anything. And I guess you'll be wanting to keep his body on ice for a while. There's an outhouse out back I can rig up for that. It'll take me a day or so to get it working properly, but it should be okay."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said gratefully. "I really appreciate it."

Bobby waved a hand dismissively. "What are you planning on doing first?"

"I think I'm going to drive back to Cicero," Sam said. "I want to find out who did this, see if they're capable of reversing it."

"Good a place to start as any," Bobby agreed thoughtfully. "You better be careful, though. We both know Dean's a damn good hunter. Anything that can take him out is gonna be a real danger."

"Just one more reason I need to find them," Sam pointed out. "I'll be careful, I promise. And I'll keep you posted."

Bobby nodded and stood up. "I'm gonna take a look at that outhouse, see what's needed."

Sam watched him go and took a gulp of his coffee, thinking back over the conversation. It hadn't gone quite the way he'd expected, although maybe he should have seen it coming. He understood what Bobby had been saying, and maybe if it had been some other person in Dean's situation, he would have agreed.

But this was Dean, and Sam wasn't giving up on him.

_What's dead should stay dead_.

Sam paused at that memory, at the realization that Dean had just been listening to the entire conversation with Bobby. And Dean had never really accepted that there were prices worth paying for his life.

He hastily unfolded the chessboard-cum-Ouija board and spread it out on the table, setting the glass in the centre. "Dean?"

Nothing.

"Dean," he said again, striving for patience. "C'mon, man. Talk to me. Please."

Still nothing.

"Dean," Sam whispered. "C'mon, don't do this to me. Please, Dean."

The glass shifted slowly, jerkily, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief, watching it carefully and wondering if he was reading too much into the jerkiness of its movements.

_HE'S RIGHT_

"About what?" Sam asked, forcing himself to stay calm.

_ALL_

"I already promised you I'm not going to do anything stupid," Sam reminded him. God, he wished he could see his brother, hear his voice. It would be so much easier to get through to him. By shaking him until he saw reason, if necessary. "I'm not going to do anything like that, okay? We'll find another way."

The glass remained still.

"Dean," Sam whispered. "Don't give up, okay? Please. I'm going to find a way out of this, but I need you to hang on for me. Okay? You brought me back, didn't you? And this is different, because we've got time. And we're together. So we'll figure out a better solution. I just... Dean, I can't go through that, okay? I can't lose you. So stay with me, please."

He felt dimly like he might have said something similar as Dean lay dying, though he didn't remember many details beyond his terror and desperation. He was under no illusions about the fact that this was just as important a battle to win, because Dean was a stubborn bastard, and if he truly made up his mind not to stay, Sam wouldn't be able to stop him from just... ceasing to be.

"I need you," Sam whispered. "Dean..."

The glass shuddered, then slowly spelled out _OK_.

Sam sighed with relief and tried to brush at his eyes surreptitiously. "Okay. I'm going to see how Bobby's getting on, and then we'll, uh, need to move your body to the outhouse." He paused as the glass started moving again.

_COAT_

Sam frowned. "Coat?"

_RING, AMULET_

"Your things," Sam said, thinking. "What, you want me to... take them?"

_GETTING CORPSY_

Sam couldn't help a surprised bark of laughter. "Jesus." Still, it sounded like Dean might be feeling better about the whole situation again, and Sam would encourage that as much as possible. "Okay, I'll do my best. Maybe we should cut off the rest of your clothes, too, they're... not at their best."

_NOT BOBBY_

Sam really did laugh at that. "Dean Winchester, modest. Who knew? I suppose you'll be wanting me to clean out the back seat of the car, too."

_SHOULDA COVERED IT. TAUGHT BETTER_

"You did," Sam agreed, "but I had other things on my mind at the time." He abandoned that line of conversation before his mood could sour. "Try to stay out of trouble, okay?"

_WHATEVER_, the glass spelled out slowly. Then, after a pause, _NEED WHATEVER POST-IT_.

Sam laughed again, and scribbled _WHATEVER_ on another post-it, sticking it to a relatively uncluttered corner of the board. "You can think about what other words we need while I'm gone."

The glass pointed to _WHATEVER_, but Sam could almost feel Dean knock against his shoulder as he left.

~*~

"Thanks again, Bobby," Sam said as he slid behind the wheel. "I really appreciate everything you've done."

"Just try to stay out of trouble," Bobby told him. "And I know it's a tall order, but try to keep your brother out of it, too."

"Hey," Dean said indignantly.

Well, he supposed that considering his current predicament he couldn't really argue that much.

"I'll do my best," Sam said with a grin. "Talk to you later, Bobby."

Bobby patted the roof of the Impala once and headed back towards the house.

"You set?" Sam asked.

Dean sighed. The whole Ouija board thing had been stupid enough to begin with, but now it was really starting to get annoying. Still, if it was the only way for him to talk to Sam, then he'd just have to put up with it. He pushed the shot glass across to _YES_. He was pretty sure that once the car started moving, the chessboard was going to fall off the front bench and onto the floor, but that was Sam's problem.

"Okay," Sam said, and started up the car.

Dean settled back as they set off, and concentrated for a moment to make sure he didn't fall through into the back seat. He was getting better at controlling whether he passed through something or touched it. Though 'touched' wasn't the right word, not really. He could move things - well, small things like the shot glass, at least - but it didn't feel like he touched them, not the way he'd touched things before. He didn't feel them. The only time he'd felt things was when he passed through them.

And Sam. He could feel Sam, too - not quite the same way as when they'd touched back when he was alive, but more real than anything else he'd tried to feel. And even more so when he'd passed through Sam: that had been... intense.

"So, I could totally take this opportunity to get my own back," Sam said conversationally. "You realize this is the ultimate 'driver picks the music' situation, right? You wouldn't even be able to whine about it. Just think of all the good music I could subject you to. All the _modern_ music, Dean. I bet it would be good for you."

"Oh, you wouldn't," Dean muttered. "You wouldn't dare."

The thing was, though, Sam totally would. He was such a little _bitch_ that way. And he was right that Dean couldn't do much to stop him. Well, he could always try to jump into Sam and possess him, but there was always a risk he might drive them off the road in the process.

If Sam put on anything too droopy, though, Dean wasn't ruling anything out. Or chirpy. Dean didn't do chirpy.

"What to pick, what to pick..." Sam mused.

"You're so bluffing, bitch," Dean said, but kept one sharp eye on where Sam's fingers were hovering anyway.

"Ah, it's just no fun when I can't hear you whining," Sam relented, and stuck a random Metallica tape in.

Dean snorted, and moved the glass to the _BITCH_ post-it he'd convinced Sam to make before they left.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said.

Dean grinned and sang along to the music, feeling better than he had in a while. The only good thing about no one being able to hear anything he said was that he could sing at the top of his voice if he wanted, and no one would complain.

"So, you thought any more about telling me who did it?" Sam asked a few minutes later.

"Nope," Dean said brightly, and moved the glass accordingly.

"You could save me a lot of time," Sam said. "And I'd be safer if I was better prepared for what I might be walking into."

Dean glared at him. "Low blow, Sammy."

He knew Sam had a point, but he was still determined to try to stop Sam from going up against Casey and Father Gil. He didn't think either of them would be able to bring him back - let alone willing - and he was pretty sure they would be a real danger to Sam. But with a bit of luck they would be long gone, and Sam would turn up nothing but dead-ends.

So to speak.

"You know I'm going to figure it out anyway," Sam told him, and paused meaningfully.

Dean went back to singing along with the music.

"Fine," Sam said, seeming to realize that no other response was forthcoming.

Dean shot a glance at his brother and wondered how long it would be before Sam would say something else. His brother was being decidedly chattier than usual. Dean supposed it was understandable, since Sam couldn't hear anything he said, and was more or less trying to carry the conversation for both of them. Plus, after the whole death thing... Dean could still remember how he'd done everything but physically cling to his brother after Sam came back, and about the only reason he'd quit that so soon was because there had been no way he could convince Sam everything was normal otherwise. Sam didn't have the option of clinging to him, or keeping him constantly in sight; all he could do was keep talking and make Dean keep communicating via the stupid Ouija board.

He was pretty sure Sam was going to wear his voice out before nightfall.

"So, do you -" Sam started again.

Dean leaned across and allowed one hand to slip into Sam's shoulder. Just far enough to have that feeling of connection, of being surrounded and filled by Sam.

Just far enough for Sam to feel him in return. Dean watched the tension slowly bleed out of Sam's shoulders, and his brother closed his mouth again, smiling slightly.

Dean grinned, and started singing along with the music again.

~*~

"You sure you're okay with this?" Sam asked again, a note of anxiety in his voice.

_DUDE_, Dean spelled out. _EAT_.

"There's bound to be a lot of people in there, though," Sam said. "I just - I'm just not sure it's a good idea for you to be around so many of them."

Dean rolled his eyes. _BORED. GO IN_.

"I - okay," Sam gave in. "But if it starts getting too much for you or there are problems, just come back out, okay? Let me know somehow and I'll leave. I guess I could always take the Ouija board in..."

Dean was glad he'd gotten Sam to make a _DUDE_ post-it too: it was saving him a lot of glass-pushing. He was a goddamn Ouija genius. _DUDE. WTF._

Sam groaned softly and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess that would be a bad idea, huh? Okay. Just find a way to let me know if you need me to leave."

_YES_, Dean spelled out, more to reassure his brother than because he really felt an answer to that was needed.

Sam sat in the car for another moment, then gave a worried sigh and got out.

Truth be told, Sam's freak-out notwithstanding, Dean was eager to go into the diner. Awesome though it was that Sam now knew he was there, it was still boring as hell not being able to drive or even have a proper conversation with him. Staring at the scenery had lost its appeal after the first ten minutes. Since sleep was also not an option, Dean was about ready to take any opportunity he could get to find something new to look at. Besides, Sam really did need to eat sometime today. If Dean couldn't have a massive burger with fries and all the trimmings, the least Sam could do was eat it for him.

The diner was doing a fairly steady trade, but it was hardly crowded. Sam made his way over to a booth in the quietest corner, and Dean slid in opposite him, nearly falling through the seat before he managed to steady himself. Maybe it was just as well that Sam couldn't see him.

Dean stared around with interest, drinking everything in. Then the waitress appeared and moved towards their booth, and _damn_. She was short and curvy, and man, he was loving that shirt she was wearing. Particularly when she leaned over to give Sam a better view.

"How can I help you?" she asked, shooting Sam a killer smile. She had a mole next to her mouth, and wow, Dean did love a woman with moles.

"Um, I'll have the chicken salad, please," Sam said. "And coffee." He passed her the menu.

Her smile slightly diminished, the waitress scribbled the order on her pad and headed towards the kitchen.

Dean groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Sam, you are a disgrace to the name of Winchester. How am I meant to live vicariously through you when you don't have a goddamn life? I mean, you don't even have the excuse of being dead."

Sam looked around nervously, then whispered, "Dean, you okay?"

Dean sighed, and prodded one of the sachets an inch or so.

"Okay," Sam whispered, looking relieved, and sat back.

Dean took a moment to just look at him. Sam was still too pale, and there were lines around his eyes Dean didn't remember being there before, but he looked like he'd be okay. He was wearing Dean's amulet around his neck. It was a little odd, seeing it hanging it there, and Dean guessed Sam had felt it too, because he'd refused to wear it until Dean talked him into it. The way Dean figured it, it wasn't exactly protecting him at the moment, so Sam might as well wear it and hopefully benefit a little from its protection too. Sam had given in eventually, and he was fiddling with it now, passing it from finger to finger.

Ah, the hell with it. As long as he managed to keep Sam alive, Dean wouldn't complain too much about his lack of a life.

The waitress reappeared a few minutes later with Sam's meal and coffee, and another smile that Sam returned politely but distantly. Dean watched raptly as she headed away again. When he finally managed to tear his eyes away, he was confronted with the sight of his brother digging into his chicken salad, perhaps not as ravenously as Dean himself sometimes ate, but with clear appreciation.

Dean stared at the chicken and the coffee. God, what he wouldn't give for a good cup of coffee. He might not be hungry or thirsty, but that didn't mean he couldn't murder a burger right about now. Hell, even Sam's green shit was starting to look good at this point.

Sam took another gulp of his coffee, eyes half-closing for a second as he savoured it, and okay, this was totally unfair.

Dean slid out of the booth and wandered off to find the waitress again. Staring at her had to be way more fun than watching Sam eat.

~*~

Sam did his best to eat quickly. Dean had been pretty insistent that he stop somewhere and eat dinner properly, but Sam was still worried about his brother being around this many people. He had no idea what it was like for him now, and he didn't want to take any risks. The memory of losing Dean was still far too fresh.

The coffee wasn't exactly to his taste, but it was hot and strong, and right then Sam would take what he could get. He wanted to cover another good part of the distance to Cicero before stopping for the night if he could: the longer it took them to get there, the slimmer his chances of finding the demon that his brother had run up against. And since Dean couldn't drive, Sam was going to need the coffee.

Still, he did plan on stopping somewhere for the night; this wasn't the panicked journey he'd made a few days earlier, chasing after Dean. If he didn't get some rest, he'd be useless by the time he managed to track this demon down.

He glanced across the booth, wondering if Dean was still sitting opposite him. The sachet Dean had moved before had lain undisturbed since. Sam hoped his brother was just staying still and trying to avoid attracting attention.

Then again, this was Dean he was talking about.

Sam finished off his salad hastily and called for the check.

"Dean," he hissed under his breath, and waited.

The sachet didn't move. Neither did anything else on the table.

Sam took a deep breath and told himself not to panic. "Dean," he whispered again, a little louder. "Dean, everything okay?" He shut up abruptly as the waitress returned with the check, managing a smile for her, though he was afraid it might be closer to a grimace.

As soon as she'd left, he opened his mouth to call for Dean again, only to snap it closed as the same sachet as before shifted slightly across the table. Sam closed his eyes for a second, feeling his heart pounding harder with relief, then murmured, "Let's go," and headed back out to the Impala.

He only managed to restrain himself until they were inside the car, though. "Are you okay? What happened? Was it just too much? Seriously, we can avoid crowded places, Dean -"

The shot glass shifted to the _CHILL_ post-it Dean had told him to make, and Sam forced himself to take a deep breath and try to calm down. He watched as the Ouija board spelled out: _BORED. CUTE WAITRESS GOT IT ON WITH BOSS. HOT. RED BRA, DUDE._

Sam stared at the Ouija board, then at the place where Dean was presumably sitting, and finally had to look out of the front window to try to keep his temper. "You mean while I was sitting there, worrying the hell about whether you were okay, thinking I might have _lost _you again, you were _spying_ on some poor woman who didn't even know you were there?"

There was a pause.

_CAN'T DO MUCH BUT LOOK. MIGHT AS WELL MAKE MOST OF ONLY PLUS. OR GO MAD_

Sam forced himself to take another deep breath. "Look, I know this has got to be hard for you, Dean, and we're going to fix it, okay? But... Jesus. Find a way to let me know next time you're going to wander off, okay?"

Another pause, then: _OK_.

Sam swallowed hard and tried not to be too pathetically relieved. He could understand that his brother might not want to be right at his side twenty-four hours a day - though this soon after Dean's death, Sam personally was all for it - but one thing he couldn't handle was Dean disappearing without warning.

He thought about bringing up Dean's behavior again, telling him off for spying on the poor waitress, but decided against it. Better to stick to one battle at the time. Besides, he didn't like the sound of what Dean had said: he knew this had to be difficult for Dean. He was going to _have_ to find some way to alleviate Dean's boredom. For both of their sakes.

"Okay," Sam said quietly. "You ready to hit the road again?"

_WHATEVER_, the shot glass said.

Sam bit his lip. "Hey. I mean it - we're going to fix this, Dean."

There was a pause, then the shot glass shifted jerkily to _YES_.

Sam tried to force down his unease and turned the key in the ignition.

~*~

Dean stared around the motel room. Man, he really might go mad if he had to lie awake in here all night.

It was a fairly standard room for them, actually, other than the fact that there was only one bed - the guy at the desk had automatically assumed that was what Sam wanted, and Dean supposed Sam could hardly have said he wanted another bed for the ghost of his dead brother. It probably made sense, anyway: there was no point in wasting money, particularly now Dean couldn't play pool or poker. The wallpaper was a disturbing shade of pink, but the room had wireless and cable, though Dean hadn't managed to persuade Sam to look for porn channels. Yet.

But after thirty seconds, he'd pretty much seen all there was to see in the room, and the thought of lying there all night, staring at the pink walls... no, it wasn't going to happen.

"Man, I'm beat," Sam said, stifling a yawn.

Dean couldn't really blame him. Sam had driven a long way that day, and he wasn't as used to driving such long stretches as Dean was. _WIMP_, he spelled out anyway.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, waving a hand dismissively. "You want me to turn the TV on for you?"

Dean made up his mind: he needed to get out of the room. _NO. BAR._

Sam groaned. "Seriously, man, I'm exhausted, and I've still got a long way to drive tomorrow. I don't think I can handle going out to a bar tonight."

That was more or less what Dean had suspected, and he sighed gustily before spelling out _OK. I GO, BACK LATER._

"Wait, what, on your own?" Sam demanded, sitting abruptly upright and looking alarmed.

_BE FINE_, Dean reassured him.

"Dean," Sam said, looking distressed. "I know you got on okay at the diner, but a bar? It might be really busy at this time of night. What if everyone starts walking through you? Or it gets to be too much for you? Or something happens and I'm not there to -"

He cut off abruptly, and Dean knew exactly what he was remembering.

_NOT YOUR FAULT, SAMMY_

Sam took a deep breath, but didn't respond. After a moment, though, he said, "I'll come with you," and swung his feet onto the floor.

_NO_, Dean said as quickly as he could. _SLEEP, SAM. BE FINE. PROMISE._ Personally, he didn't think much more harm could come to him now that he was dead, but he wasn't about to try telling Sam that. _COME RIGHT BACK IF PROBLEM._

Sam stared at the Ouija board, looking unconvinced. "The bar over the road?"

It would have to be; Dean didn't think he'd be able to move further away from Sam than that. Even that bar might be pushing it. _YES_.

"Okay," Sam said, still sounding reluctant. "If you're sure. I'm holding you to that, though - if anything goes wrong, if anything happens, come right back, okay? And let me know when you're back, too."

Dean reminded himself again of how he'd felt after Sam's brush with death, and restrained himself to spelling out _PROMISE_.

"Okay," Sam said again, sighing.

Dean crossed the room and pressed his hand into Sam's, trying to let his brother feel his reassurance along with his presence. He waited for Sam to nod before he dropped his hand again and walked through the door.

It was only once he was outside and whistling as he headed in the direction of the bar that he realized he could have just as easily gone through the wall, rather than going out of his way to leave through the door. He wondered how long it would take to get over that habit. He wondered if he wanted to.

The bar was busy, but not quite as crowded as Sam had probably feared. Dean relaxed as he moved further inside - even though he'd never been to this bar before, he'd spent time in so many similar ones that he felt more or less at home. Even the people there were instantly familiar: over on the right was the guy he'd normally take for a small fortune at pool; over on the left was the guy to watch out for, the one most likely to cause a fight; a table in the corner was where the person most likely to be able to tell him all about the surrounding area and any potentially supernatural happenings was sitting; a couple of the girls gathered round the jukebox were underage and too obviously excited about getting served; and the bartender...

The bartender was the one he'd be trying to hook up with, circumstances and Sam permitting. She didn't look like Casey - a good thing, under the circumstances - but she was still hot, trading quips with the customers and serving up drinks confidently. She looked tough and sexy, and Dean liked that in a woman.

She looked up at that moment and smiled in his direction, and Dean could almost convince himself that it was him she was smiling at. He couldn't help grinning back, and moved further inside, drifting towards her.

There was a good atmosphere in the bar, people laughing and joking, some music that Dean didn't know but could live with pounding in the air. Dean was glad he'd come out after all. It had to be better than lying there staring at the walls and waiting for morning.

It was too bad he couldn't play pool, he thought, eyeing the game going on at the table. He wondered if Sam would get over his scruples regarding the less upstanding aspects of their lifestyle before the last of the money ran out, now Dean couldn't handle it. Well, unless his ability to touch things expanded to the point where he could pick someone's pocket. If nothing else, the look on their face as they watched their money float through mid-air ought to be hilarious.

Speaking of which, Dean hadn't had _nearly_ enough fun with the advantages of being dead yet. And since Sam wasn't there to be a killjoy...

He moved closer to the pool table and sized up the situation. The college kid was totally getting played by an older guy who wasn't even very good at hiding what he was doing. Dean would have taken great pleasure in handing him his ass. Since that wasn't an option... Dean watched the college kid line up his next shot.

"No, no, you've got to angle it more, you're never gonna pot it that way," he instructed out loud, moving round to the pocket the kid was aiming for.

The kid took the shot and, as Dean knew it would, the ball stopped several inches short of the pocket.

"Too bad," the older guy said, "you -" He broke off, staring.

Dean kept his eyes on the guy's face as he carefully rolled the ball into the pocket, grinning.

"How did -?" the older guy demanded, swinging round to glare at the college kid, who was staring open-mouthed.

"Wow, did you see that?" the kid exclaimed. "It was like a trick shot or something!"

The hustler's suspicion couldn't hold in the face of the kid's cluelessness. "Yeah, you sure got lucky with that one," he said half-heartedly.

"Oh, you've got no idea," Dean said, and waited for the ideal moment.

It came when the hustler had lined up a tricky but perfectly doable shot, one that would as good as win him the game. Dean put his hands in front of the pocket the guy was aiming for, and hoped he wasn't just going to get a ball thundering through them at high speed, which didn't sound like his idea of a good time.

Instead, the ball hesitated for a second, and then slowly rebounded back, away from the pocket.

"Oh, hard luck," the college kid sympathized.

Dean almost had to double over laughing at the expression on the hustler's face. The guy knew damn well the shot should have gone in, and was beginning to look around for an explanation.

It still took quite a lot of work for Dean to extricate the kid from the hole he'd been in, but it was well worth it for the look on the hustler's face. The way the kid whooped and punched the air when Dean finally managed it made him laugh even more.

The expression on the hustler's face when the college kid offered him a rematch was the best part of all, Dean thought with satisfaction, and doubled over laughing again as the guy declined and made a sharp exit from the bar.

"My round!" the kid yelled to his friends, waving his winnings in the air, and headed towards the bar.

"Mine's a whiskey," Dean said to his receding back. "I missed out on some damn good whiskey recently, and you totally owe me now, dude."

He was about to head for the bar himself, in the hope of somehow getting hold of some alcohol, when a door off to the right caught his eye.

_Ladies_.

Dean hesitated. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. He could imagine Sam's shocked expression all too clearly. And yet how long had he wondered what really went on in there? When would he ever get this chance again? It was practically his duty to take the opportunity while it was there, surely?

The girls who'd been hanging out near the jukebox made a break en masse for the bathroom door, and okay, Dean might be a ghost, but he was only human. Surely no one could expect him to resist that?

Obviously he was far too classy to actually look in on any of the girls in the stalls, but he did lean against the counter for a few minutes to watch the girls in front of the mirrors. Dean listened as they exchanged gossip and little tubs of lip gloss and did complicated things to each other's hair. One of the girls wearing a pretty dangerous top took the opportunity to adjust her bra, and Dean could only enjoy the view.

On the whole, it was kind of disappointing, though. Dean had always imagined women got up to... well, he'd never been entirely clear on _exactly_ what, but he'd thought it might be something a bit more mysterious and exciting than that. Then again, maybe it was just these girls. Or maybe they'd somehow sensed he was there and were acting less interesting to make sure he didn't go in again. Sam had probably warned them. Somehow.

He drifted back out of the bathroom, bored, and was not particularly surprised to see there was no whiskey waiting for him at the bar. Well, it had been a long shot anyway.

There were no free seats at the bar itself, and besides, the risk that someone would come and sit on top of him was pretty high - and even if it turned out to be a hot chick, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun as it would have been if he was alive. Instead, Dean wandered over to the side and leaned against a wall, looking around.

The college kid whose ass he'd saved at pool looked like he was getting lucky with one of the girls from the bathroom. Dean watched them kiss, and wondered if she'd have been coming on to him, instead, if she was able to see him. If he was alive.

He looked away abruptly, watching the group of people at the bar instead. They were clamoring to be served, shouting cheerfully or less good-naturedly, downing drinks and clinking bottles. The hot bartender was serving them as fast as she could. She looked tired, but was dealing with the crowd with good grace, smiling as she handed people their drinks, kindly but unequivocally brushing off the passes being made at her. Dean really kind of wanted to buy her a drink and get someone to cover while she took a break, see if he could get her to smile at him properly, not the friendly but tired smile she was offering the people she was serving.

He was never going to get the chance now.

Dean stared around at the room full of people, and swallowed hard. Never going to get the chance to talk to a pretty woman and try to make her smile; never going to get to play pool; never going to commandeer a jukebox and teach people what real music was; never going to laugh and joke with people; never going to have anyone look him in the eye again. Never going to be touched, not a handshake, not a hug, not a kiss. Nothing.

It was a stupid time and place to realize it, but he was dead and it was all fucking over for him. And it didn't matter how long he stood there and tried to feel part of the scene, he wasn't, not any more. He was dead, and life was going on without him.

The noise of the jukebox and the laughter and shouting of the people around him was suddenly oppressive, closing in on him; Dean felt like he couldn't breathe. He stumbled backwards -

\- and just that suddenly found himself outside it all, standing with his face almost pressed against the outside wall of the building, the world gone abruptly silent, except the muffled sound of the people in the bar carrying on without him.

Dean struggled to control himself, taking a deep breath, and then another. He didn't dare lean against the wall in case he went right through it again; instead he stood there, half-curling over on himself, trying not to lose it, because there was no way in _hell_ he was going to cry over his own death.

After a few minutes he forced himself upright, and began slowly weaving his way back to the motel room across the road, doing his best not to think at all.

He'd assumed Sam would be sleeping, but instead the room was empty, and Dean almost panicked until he realized he could hear the sound of the shower running. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to get himself under control. Maybe that was the only real advantage of being dead, though: it would be that much easier to hide the way he was feeling from Sam, who'd otherwise gotten freakishly good at figuring things like that out over the past couple of years.

But Dean was dead now, and Sam couldn't see him or hear him, could only know what Dean used the Ouija board to tell him. Dean could lie as much as he wanted now.

To just about the only person who even knew he was there. To just about the only person who cared either way.

Dean closed his eyes and fought for control, trying to focus on the sound of the shower, and leaned against the wall next to the bathroom door.

Only to fall right through it and into the shower. Into Sam.

The sense of _Sam_ that washed over him felt stronger and more real than the water that was suddenly pouring over and through him, and Dean gasped, caught off-guard, hearing his brother gasp too and slam a hand against the side of the stall to keep his balance. Dean had a moment to feel Sam's anxiety before it shifted to relief.

The depth of the emotion was overwhelming, and Dean almost couldn't cope with the reality of the confirmation of how much Sam did care, how glad his brother was that he was still there. It was one thing to know it and quite another to _feel_ it, the warmth of it rushing through him.

He knew he should pull away, step out of Sam's body completely, but he couldn't quite bring himself to shift away from that emotion, not yet. After the realization that had hit him in the bar, the comfort of feeling that he mattered to someone, that he was still part of someone's world, was something he couldn't give up quite yet.

"Dean?" Sam said, and Dean felt his emotions shift as relief began to give way to concern. But he still couldn't force himself to pull away.

Sam reached out, as if trying to touch Dean, hold him against him; it seemed to have no effect other than making his emotions felt even more clearly, as more of Dean was inside him.

"Hey," Sam murmured, "hey, Dean, what's wrong? What's happened? C'mon, you're okay, I've got you..."

_Oh god_. Dean had assumed - when he'd been thinking at all, which hadn't really been much since he'd left the bar - that Sam would guess Dean was playing a prank on him, or trying to annoy him or something. He'd known that Sam could sense his presence when Dean passed through him, but he hadn't realized that his brother could feel his emotions the same way Dean could feel his.

He forced himself to take a step back, slipping away from his position half-in and half-out of Sam to stand fully outside him, breathing hard and fighting to bring his emotions back under control.

"Dean, _no_ -" Sam said, even more worry in his voice. Dean made the mistake of looking up, just in time to see Sam's face shift to determination as his brother reached out for him.

And touched him.

Dean gasped, the shock of contact after days of nothing destroying the last of his control. He saw fierce triumph and satisfaction flash across Sam's face before his brother's expression returned to that oh-so-familiar mixture of concern and determination again. Sam slid his hand across Dean's chest and up to his shoulder, closing around it.

Holy shit, Sam could _touch_ him, Dean thought dazedly, still trying to get his brain to process that.

"_Dean_," Sam said again, stronger now, and tugged at Dean's shoulder, pulling him closer. "Oh Jesus, Dean, you - we -"

"Sam," Dean choked out. He couldn't fight his brother, couldn't even put up token resistance, not when he hadn't been able to touch his brother in days, not when he'd thought he would never be able to properly touch anything ever again. Instead he reached out slowly, unable to stop the faint tremor in his fingers as he closed his hands around his brother's upper arms. "God, Sam."

Sam gave a choked sound, and Dean found himself crushed against his brother's body, face pressed against his shoulder, warm and solid and _real_ against him. He gave in and closed his eyes, doing his best to ignore the way they were stinging, and held on as tight as he could.

~*~

Sam closed his eyes and held on to his brother. With his eyes shut, he could almost pretend nothing was wrong, that Dean was there and alive - too cold, but nothing Sam couldn't cure.

He was damn well going to find a way to cure this, too.

He could feel Dean's head resting against his shoulder, hands gripping his biceps almost painfully tight. Sam took savage satisfaction in it. He'd never really realized how often he and Dean did touch, after all, until it had been taken away from him, and after the days of silence and grief and isolation, he needed this connection with his brother. Later on he'd try to figure out why they could touch now when they hadn't been able to before, but for now Sam just held on and focused on Dean.

With Dean pressed this close against him, Sam was still able to pick up on his emotions - dimly, compared to when Dean had been inside him, but still recognizable if he concentrated. He could distantly sense Dean's shock and how overwhelmed he was by this new development, and beneath that the grief and depression Sam had felt when Dean had first come into the shower stall. He didn't know what had happened to cause it, not for certain, but he could guess what it was about. Dean had spent the past ten months acting as though he didn't give a damn that he was going to die, that his soul was going to hell, and Sam was pretty sure that Dean had even managed to convince himself that it was the truth, on occasion. Then there had been other times when Dean hadn't managed to fool anyone.

And now Dean was dead, something Sam was still trying to wrap his head around. It had been bound to catch up with Dean sooner or later, and Sam was just glad his brother had come to him, intentionally or otherwise.

He concentrated on trying to project as much of his emotions as he could. Slowly, he felt Dean relax against him, though he still showed no sign of wanting to pull away. Which was fine by Sam. God, it felt good to be able to touch his brother again.

Eventually, though, the water began to run cold. And although Sam knew that the reason Dean felt so cold was because he was a spirit, not because he needed to warm up, it was hard to convince his subconscious of that. He forced himself to open his eyes, swallowing hard at the sight of empty space in front of him, even though he could still feel Dean pressed against him. The only hint of his presence was in the way the water seemed to hesitate in mid-air for a moment before continuing its fall.

He ran a hand up and down Dean's back, and felt his brother lift his head from his shoulder. "C'mon," Sam said quietly, and reached out to turn off the water.

He felt Dean pull back, but Sam grabbed onto him in something close to panic. He was half-afraid that if he let go of Dean, it would all be lost, and when he reached out again there'd be nothing but empty air. That wasn't a risk he was ready to take yet. He almost expected Dean to forcibly pull away and slip out of his grasp, but he allowed Sam to maintain the grip encircling his wrists, which told Sam more clearly than anything else could that his brother needed the contact too.

He stepped carefully out of the shower stall, wincing as his feet hit cold tile, and realized belatedly that he was naked and dripping wet. He felt himself flush slightly at the realization, but found it hard to care too much when he could still feel Dean's wrists beneath his hands. He was getting cold fast, though, water sliding from his hair and down his back, making him shiver, and so Sam forced himself to release one of Dean's wrists for long enough to grab a towel and scrub it over his hair and upper body before securing it around his hips - a tough prospect one-handed, but there was no way he was about to let go of Dean entirely, not yet; the mere thought made him tighten his grip.

He tugged on Dean's wrist, and was relieved when Dean came with him without hesitation. He might have to let go at some point, but he was going to put it off for as long as possible.

He led the way back through into the room, ignoring the damp footprints he was leaving on the ugly carpet. Getting into bed without letting go of Dean took a bit of juggling, but he managed it, then tugged at Dean again to tell him to climb onto the bed on his own side. Judging by the way Dean's wrist turned and shifted in his grip, clambering onto the bed without pulling away was even trickier for him, but Sam just tightened his grip, unwilling to take any risks, and then Dean seemed to settle down.

Sam lay still on his side for a moment, staring at the spot where Dean had to be lying, then shifted onto his back, moving closer to the centre of the bed. After a second, he felt Dean move too, until they were lying next to each other, shoulders touching, arms pressed together right down to where he was still gripping Dean's wrist.

He lay awake for a long time, just holding on, before he finally slipped into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When Sam opened his eyes, dim light was just starting to filter into the room through the thin curtains. He blinked for a moment, then remembered in a rush what had happened the previous night, and sat up abruptly as he realized that he was no longer holding on to Dean's wrist.

"Dean?" he asked aloud. God, what if whatever it was had worn off? What if it had only been a one-time thing? What if -

A hand clapped down on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, and Sam couldn't stop himself from exhaling sharply with relief. Not only was Dean still there, they could still _touch_. _Oh, thank god_.

"Okay," he said, when he thought he could control his voice again. "Okay. Good." He swallowed, and remembered the feelings he'd picked up on when Dean had fallen into him the previous night. "Hey. You okay?"

The hand squeezed once more and started to pull away, but Sam reacted with the reflexes Dean had helped him to hone, catching Dean's upper arm and holding on tight. The very fact that his brother let him get away with it, not bothering to tug his way free, told Sam that Dean needed the contact too. Probably even more than Sam did, under the circumstances.

He didn't comment on that, though. Instead he asked again, more insistently, "Seriously, you okay?"

Dean's hand covered his and squeezed once, the first and most basic code they'd ever learned. _Yes_.

"Good," Sam said uncertainly, only half-believing him. "You want to tell me what happened last night? Because you didn't seem so okay then."

Two squeezes. _No_.

"C'mon," Sam said, mustering a half-smile. "Something obviously happened to you. You went to the bar across the road, right? Were there just too many people around?"

Two squeezes. Then, after a pause, one.

Sam nodded. From the sound of it, Dean wasn't entirely certain himself what the exact cause of the problem had been - or if he did know, he didn't want to talk about it. Sam wasn't about to push, at least not right away, since there was no better way to guarantee that Dean would turn stubborn. With luck, he'd be able to work out more of the details later. He was just relieved that they could touch each other now. Dean had always responded better to touch than most other forms of communication, even if he'd never admit it.

"Okay, fine," Sam said. "I guess I'd better get out of bed if we're going to hit the road sometime today, right?" Even he could hear the barely suppressed undercurrent of reluctance in his tone, though.

A single squeeze, and Sam nodded, then forced himself to release his grip on Dean's arm. He told himself firmly that since he was still able to touch Dean this morning, whatever had changed had probably done so permanently, so there was no need to worry that it would be gone if he let go of Dean for a second or two. It was hard not to reach out to make certain, though. Instead he forced himself to get out of bed, flushing suddenly at the realization that all he'd been wearing when he'd gone to bed was a towel wrapped round his waist, which had of course come loose during the night. He secured it back around his hips and headed for the bathroom.

He made himself take the time to shave, something he'd been neglecting since - well, since. It was hard to take the time to do it properly, though, and he could feel his body growing tenser, the strokes of his razor becoming more hasty and impatient. He kept glancing up at the mirror, searching the reflection for something he knew damn well he wasn't going to see.

Then a palm flattened against his back and stayed there, and Sam felt his muscles relax.

He finished shaving, steadied by the contact, and stood still for a long moment when he'd finished until Dean took his hand away again, at which point Sam forced himself to go and dress. Then he returned to the bathroom to try to convince his hair to lie in a slightly more orderly fashion, which proved to be a losing battle since he'd gone to bed while it was still completely wet the previous night.

Dean tapped against his back as Sam frowned at his reflection in the mirror. It took Sam a moment to place it as Morse code, something their father had made them learn when they were young, and another moment to translate it into a word - he was out of practice. _Sonic_, Dean was tapping.

Sam snorted, picturing himself with Sonic the Hedgehog's spiky blue hair, but had to admit that Dean wasn't all that far off, color aside. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, dude." He ended up wetting a comb and dragging it through his hair a few times. "That'll have to do, I guess. Good thinking with the Morse, by the way, that'll be come in handy if we can't use the Ouija board at some point."

Dean gave a single squeeze for _Yes_, and Sam wondered if it was only in his imagination that it felt slightly smug. Then Dean tapped out _Genius_, which pretty much confirmed it.

"Yeah yeah, genius," he said. "Whatever. C'mon, let's hit the road."

_Food_, Dean tapped out.

Sam shook his head, uncertain whether he should be touched that Dean was still watching out for his welfare even though he couldn't eat himself, or nervous that Dean was transferring his obsession with food to Sam. Knowing his luck, it was probably both. But Sam had no intention of taking Dean into a diner, not after the previous night. "I'll grab something on the way. Let's go, we've still got a long way to drive if we're going to reach Cicero today."

~*~

It was late afternoon when the Impala pulled up in front of the motel in Cicero. Dean felt obscurely relieved that Sam wasn't planning on seeing if Lisa would let him stay, though he was almost certain she would offer. It was probably safer for her and for Ben if the Winchesters spent as little time in their house as possible. Besides, something about the thought of spending a night wandering about that house, surrounded by that life which wasn't his but could have been, made him feel uncomfortable.

He was just glad Sam had paid cash for his room back when they'd visited Cicero last year, or they might not have had a choice about where to stay.

Sam barely took the time to get them checked in and to glance around the room itself before he started dragging Dean back to the car.

"Dude," Dean protested futilely. He didn't bother tapping anything out, though, or even trying to pull away. He was more or less resigned to the idea that Sam was going to be dragging him all over the place for a while, if only to make certain that he really was still there, and Dean couldn't entirely blame him for that. And if he was honest, there was something reassuring about it, feeling Sam real and solid under his fingertips in a world where nothing else was, knowing he was real to Sam if no one else. It was an anchor he shouldn't need, but he did.

"I want to talk to Ben and Lisa first," Sam said, climbing back into the Impala. "See if they know anything useful." He hesitated for a moment before asking, "Do you - do you want me to tell them you're... here?"

Dean couldn't help the way he flinched. There had been so many other things to think about that he hadn't considered the fact that Ben and Lisa knew he was dead, and the implications of that. Lisa's skepticism about the supernatural had to have taken a battering over the past year, but Dean wasn't sure she was ready for the idea of a ghost wandering around her house. And Ben... well, Ben would probably cope with it much better; he was a hell of a kid. But that didn't mean it would be good for him. The kid had been through enough supernatural shit.

He squeezed Sam's arm twice. _No_.

"Okay," Sam said, and quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, after I've talked to them I want to retrace your steps. Unless you've changed your mind and you're gonna tell me what happened?"

Dean shook his head, unable to suppress a sigh. He should have known better than to think Sam would give up on this, but he still wasn't going to let Sam walk into that kind of danger if he could prevent it. There was a pretty good chance that Sam wouldn't be able to find any real clues to Casey and Father Gil; Dean hadn't himself, though admittedly he'd been working under a deadline, and Sam had time and stubbornness on his side.

He squeezed Sam's arm twice again.

"Figures," Sam muttered. "Fine. Let's go."

It was weird being back at Lisa's house, standing on the same doorstep he'd been on just a few days earlier.

"Stay close," Sam muttered. "And - just let me know you're there every so often, okay?"

Dean squeezed Sam's wrist once, affirmatively, and then the door opened.

"Sam," Lisa said, looking surprised and uncertain, before she stepped forward and hugged him. "Oh god, Sam, I'm so sorry about your brother."

Dean couldn't help but grin at Sam's disconcerted expression and the way he didn't seem to know what to do with his arms for a moment - there were few things he found more hilarious than watching Sam out of his depth with a hot chick - but he couldn't help feeling a bit strange, watching them hug, Sam's arms now wrapped safely round her.

"Thanks," Sam murmured. "I - sorry to drop in on you like this." He pulled back, managing an awkward smile.

"Don't apologize," Lisa said. "I'm glad you're here. I - I owe Dean so much. Do you want to come inside?"

"If you don't mind," Sam said, and followed her over the threshold.

Dean started to follow, then stopped, staring at the line of salt still in place across the doorway. _Oh, shit_.

Sam didn't appear to have noticed, still focused on Lisa, who was saying something about coffee as she shut the door behind them both. Dean gritted his teeth and tried to walk through the door.

The door itself wasn't a problem, but the salt was another matter. Dean knew the moment he'd hit it, burning whiteness blinding him and throwing him back. He found himself on the doorstep again, gasping, and instinctively took another quick step back -

Only to find himself standing on the street, beside the Impala.

It was a horrible moment before Dean could even process how that had happened. Surely the salt hadn't thrown him that far back? He'd been on the doorstep again for a moment, and he hadn't had any problem getting that close to the house before. No, the salt wasn't to blame for that part.

He'd moved the way ghosts tended to, snapping from one spot to another with unnatural speed.

_Jesus Christ_. Dean took several deep breaths and tried to recover his composure. He'd always found the jerky way spirits sometimes moved to be creepy as hell, ever since he was a kid, and he had to admit he was more than slightly freaked out that he'd done it himself.

"This death gig just gets suckier by the minute," he muttered, and tried to put it out of his mind. He'd done it once, that didn't mean he had to do it again. And he had a bigger problem on his hands, specifically the fact that he couldn't get inside the house. He half-wished he hadn't told Lisa to lay salt along the walls, too, because he'd really locked himself out as a result. It looked like he was stuck outside unless Sam opened up a hole in one of the salt lines.

And hopefully Sam wouldn't do that. They might be keeping Dean out, but if they were also keeping out demons and the like...

Dean sighed and passed back into the Impala. Maybe it was for the best. Lisa and Sam having a conversation about him could only be embarrassing.

~*~

"Come on through," Lisa said, ushering Sam into the kitchen. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Um, milk and sugar, please," Sam said. "Lisa, I'm sorry I was so rude when I got here at the weekend - I just -"

"God, please don't apologize," Lisa said in a rush. "You were right to be worried. I'm sorry I didn't tell you at once where he was - maybe if I'd..."

Sam shook his head at once. The last thing he wanted was for Lisa to blame herself. "No, I - I don't think it would have changed anything, honestly." He changed the subject hastily. Even now he knew Dean wasn't gone, it was hard for him to remember that alleyway and the taste of Dean's blood. "How's Ben doing? Is he okay?"

Lisa nodded slowly. "He's doing okay. He's upset about Dean, of course..." She managed a painful smile at Sam. "I know they didn't know each other long, but they really hit it off. Ben adored him."

"Dean really cared about him too," Sam said quietly, thinking back to the conversation he and his brother had had after leaving Cicero for the first time.

"So he's upset, yes," Lisa said. "But I'm just grateful that he's back safely. I was so worried."

Sam accepted the cup of coffee and took a sip. "Lisa, could you maybe tell me a bit about what happened while Dean was here?"

"Of course," Lisa replied, her eyes soft with an understanding that Sam had to look away from. "He arrived late on Friday afternoon and looked at Ben's room. He found this weird dust up there - he said it was sulfur, and that meant a - a demon had been there." She swallowed, obviously still uncomfortable with that. "He went out to ask around a bit, but it didn't sound like he made any progress that evening."

Sam nodded encouragingly. He'd spoken to Dean that evening, and his brother hadn't mentioned anything then. "What about the next day?"

"Dean was looking around Ben's room again when I woke up," Lisa said. "He found a sort of flyer, a questionnaire-type thing - something about a new youth center being opened. I gave him directions to the park, and I think he went to talk to a couple of Ben's friends there. I don't know what he did after that, though - he was away for most of the day. When he came back he asked me if I knew anyone called Stacey. He seemed to think that was who'd taken Ben."

"And you don't know anyone called that?" Sam asked. "Or anything similar?"

Lisa shook her head helplessly. "No, nobody. I told him that, too. Anyway, we were talking and there was a noise outside. Dean opened the door and there was a note on the doorstep, with an address. It said to come alone at sunset - to an abandoned warehouse down at the bottom of that alley. I wanted to go too, but Dean talked me out of it, said it was too dangerous." She bit her lip and looked up at Sam helplessly. "Then he left, and a little while later you appeared. That's it."

"Okay," Sam said, a little disappointed that she didn't seem to know much more than he did. "That flyer - I don't suppose you still have it?"

Lisa shook her head. "He took it with him when he went off to the park. I don't know what happened to it after that."

Maybe Bobby would know more about it, Sam thought, making a mental note to call him later. "Thanks, Lisa." He hesitated, then went ahead and asked. "Do you think I could maybe speak to Ben? Just for a few minutes?"

Lisa hesitated for a moment, and Sam thought she might refuse, but the thought of what she owed Dean seemed to win out, because she said, "Sure. I'll go get him."

Sam glanced around the kitchen as he waited. "Dean?" he asked quietly.

There was no touch to his arm, nothing. Sam's eyes fell on the thin white line of salt along one wall and he inhaled sharply, looking around more closely.

_Salt_.

Now he thought about it, he'd stepped across a salt line across the front door, too. He hadn't given it a second thought at the time: salt had been part of his life for as long as he could remember, and it had always been something positive. It hadn't even occurred to him to think that it wasn't something positive any more, not for Dean.

Sam took a deep breath to steady himself and forced himself to think rationally. If the salt was along the walls, too, there would be no way for Dean to get in. He'd probably gone back to the car to wait after Sam had gone inside. If Sam opened up a space in the salt now, Dean probably wouldn't be close enough to see and come inside, but there would be a danger that something else might, and Lisa and Ben could be at risk.

He would just have to wait. Dean would be fine outside, Sam was sure, though he resolved to keep his conversation with Ben as short as he could. He really didn't like being separated from his brother right now.

"You're Dean's brother."

Sam swung round to see Ben standing in the doorway, Lisa behind him with a hand on his shoulder. He smiled awkwardly at the kid. "Yeah, I am. I'm Sam. Can I maybe talk to you for a minute?"

Ben shrugged and stepped into the room, and Sam took a moment to study him. He hadn't had a great deal to do with Ben in the past, except for when he and Dean had taken on the changelings together to rescue the kid; Dean was the one who'd spent time with him. He could see why his brother liked him so much, though. He might not be Dean's son, but Sam could definitely see similarities nonetheless.

"I'm trying to find out exactly what happened," Sam said, once Ben had sat down. "Can you tell me what you remember?"

Ben nodded. He was more subdued than Sam remembered, though he guessed that wasn't surprising under the circumstances. "I woke up in the middle of the night, and there was a man standing at the end of my bed."

Sam sat up straighter. _Finally_, something new. "What did he look like?"

"It was dark," Ben said. "I didn't see him too well until later, but he had grey hair, looked kinda old. Really pale. Like, _sick_."

Sam frowned. "What about his eyes? Were they a weird color, like black or yellow or anything?"

Ben shook his head. "Not that I saw."

"Okay," Sam said. "So this man took you?"

"I don't remember that part," Ben admitted. "It was like I fell asleep or something. When I woke up I was in this room, tied to a chair. I tried to untie myself, but I couldn't. It's a lot harder than they make it look on TV."

"Yeah, it is," Sam agreed. "It takes a lot of practice, and even then you can't do it if the person who tied you up really knows what they're doing."

A spark of interest flared in Ben's eyes. "Maybe I should learn."

Sam hurried on before Lisa could kill him for inadvertently planting that idea. "What happened after that?"

"This woman came in and talked to me for a bit," Ben said. "She said not to worry, they weren't going to hurt me, and Dean was going to come and get me."

"What did she look like? Had you seen her before?" Sam asked.

"She was really pale too," Ben said. "Like the old guy. But not as old as him. And I saw her on Thursday on my way home from school."

"What?" Lisa demanded, paling herself.

"She had this survey thing," Ben said. "She said it was for some youth center or something - it was just a couple of stupid questions, Mom, and I got a free voucher for this music store. Everyone else filled it out too, it didn't seem like a big deal at the time."

"And that was the woman?" Sam asked hastily, before Lisa could say anything else. "What else happened?"

"Nothing for a while," Ben said. "I was getting really hungry, and then all of a sudden Dean came in with her again."

"Dean came in _with_ her?" Sam frowned. "Did he... have her at gunpoint or something?"

"No," Ben said, as if Sam was being stupid. "She showed him the way."

Sam shook his head in confusion. "What did Dean do?"

"He cut me loose with this wicked knife," Ben said, as if it was obvious. "And I said I was hungry, so he said we would get out of there and go find something to eat. So we went down the stairs and Dean thanked her, and then we ran up the alley. Except then the old guy suddenly appeared in front of us." His voice shook for the first time, but he met Sam's eyes proudly. "Dean was awesome, you shoulda seen him. He pulled out a gun, just like that. And then he told me to run. I wouldn't have otherwise - I wouldn't have just run away and left him."

"You did the right thing," Sam reassured him, swallowing hard. "I'm glad you did what he told you."

"Are you gonna hunt them down?" Ben asked, a note of eagerness entering his voice. "Can I come and help?"

"I'm looking for them, yes," Sam admitted. "But I think your mom would miss you if you came with me, Ben. They might have left Cicero already. I'm guessing you haven't seen this Stacey or the old guy since?"

"I haven't seen them," Ben said. He frowned. "Who's Stacey?"

"We think that's what the woman's name was," Sam told him. "Dean was on her trail before he went to get you."

"That's not what he called her, though," Ben objected.

Sam stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I heard him thanking her as we were leaving," Ben said, looking slightly nervous in the face of Sam's intent gaze. "He called her another name."

"What did he call her?" Sam asked.

Ben glanced across at his mother, then back at Sam. "Casey. He called her Casey."

~*~

Man, Sam was _pissed_.

Dean didn't bother trying to tap out anything in Morse, just touched Sam's arm for a second to let him know he was there. It was a probably a measure of just how pissed Sam was that he didn't say anything beyond, "We're going back to the motel. And then we're going to _talk_, Dean."

Oh yeah, that boded well.

They reached the motel far too quickly for Dean's comfort. Sam didn't bother holding the car door open for him to get out, just slammed it and headed for the motel room. Which, okay, Dean was perfectly capable of passing through the door, but he'd been taking a certain satisfaction in Sam holding them open for him everywhere.

Safely inside the motel room, with the door closed behind them, Sam exploded.

"Casey? _Casey_, Dean?! When the hell were you planning on letting me on that detail?"

Oh. Well, that explained it.

Sam was still in full flow. "I mean, what the hell? You didn't think I needed to know she and Father Gil were back? You didn't think that was _important_? Damnit, Dean!"

"Maybe if I'd thought there was a chance you would actually listen to me like a reasonable person instead of charging after them in a rage and getting yourself killed in the process, I'd have told you," Dean muttered, starting to get angry himself.

"You actually trusted her, didn't you? You went in there and put your trust in her, and she stabbed you in the fucking back! And, what, you're still trying to protect her?"

"The knife was at my throat, actually," Dean said, and sat down at the table. It was really no fun arguing with someone who couldn't hear you. He might as well just let Sam get it out of his system before he tried to communicate again.

It didn't take quite as long as Dean expected. He guessed Sam found it unsatisfying yelling at nothing, too; he'd have to bear that in mind for future reference. Sam dropped into the other chair, jaw still clenched, and said, "Talk to me."

Fine. Dean reached for the Ouija board, which was sitting on the table; he wasn't about to start tapping Morse against his brother's arm while Sam was this annoyed.

_WANTED KEEP YOU SAFE_

Sam shook his head angrily. "Yeah, right."

_THOUGHT YOU'D REACT LIKE THIS, GO AFTER THEM_

"Of course I'm going after them," Sam said, his voice starting to get louder again. "They're demons, Dean! And they _killed_ you!"

_DON'T. TOO DANGEROUS_

"You wouldn't have accepted that while Ben was in danger," Sam said. His voice was glacial now. "You wouldn't accept it if I were in danger."

_NOT IN DANGER. DEAD_

Sam choked a bit on that. Dean winced slightly himself, but he had to get through to Sam about this.

"But you still need help," Sam said finally. "They might be able to bring you back. And if not, they still need sending back to hell before they kill other people."

_OR GET YOURSELF KILLED_

"Do what I say, not what I do, huh, Dean?" Sam's voice was bitter now, and Dean flinched from it. "So, why did you trust her?"

_TRIED TO SAVE ME_

"Like hell," Sam said. "She was setting you up for her partner out in the alley, that's all."

_NO. NOT STUPID, SAM_

"What makes you so sure?" Sam demanded. "She just too pretty to be evil or something?"

Dean glared at him for that one. "After that werewolf chick, Sam, you have no room to fucking talk." _SAID NOT STUPID_

Sam sighed and shook his head. "Fine, sorry. Why, then?"

_TRIED BEFORE. PLUS OWED ME FOR TRYING TOO_

Sam frowned. "Trying to save her from what?"

_YOU_, Dean spelled out succinctly.

Sam stared at the Ouija board. "What?"

_TOLD YOU NOT TO SHOOT_

"They were trying to kill you," Sam said, with an obvious effort to stay calm.

_NOT HER_

"So what do you think I should have done?" Sam demanded.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe listened to me for a second before coming out all guns blazing?" Dean muttered, but restrained himself. He might be concerned by his brother's rash behavior this year, but he wasn't about to deliberately hurt him. _NOT IMPORTANT. SHE OWED ME_

Sam took a deep breath, looking thoughtful. "So you really think she meant to let you go?"

_YES_

Sam shook his head. "Okay. I don't know, I'm not convinced, but okay. Even more reason for me to track her down, in that case - if she likes you that much, maybe she'd be willing to help you."

Yeah, that was really likely, Dean thought sardonically. _BAD IDEA_

"Best idea we've got right now," Sam told him. "Just about the _only_ idea we've got right now. You going to tell me the leads you had on her, now the big secret's out? Or are you going to make me do this the hard way?"

Dean sighed and gave up. _MUSIC STORE. WORKED THERE. ADDRESS, BUT DIDN'T EXIST_

"That's somewhere to start, though," Sam said. "I guess it's too late to check out the store tonight, it's bound to be closed by now. The address might be worth a try, though. Was it just the number that didn't exist, or the entire street?"

_NUMBER_

"Good," Sam said. "Maybe they still picked it for a reason. I'm going to grab something from the vending machine, then we can try researching it online, and maybe head over there after if we find anything promising."

_OK_, Dean spelled out simply. There hardly seemed any point in trying to talk Sam out of it.

Sam got to his feet and grabbed his wallet from beside the bed, then hesitated. "Anything else major you haven't told me that you should have? Any other secrets you've been keeping that I should know about?"

Dean thought about the crossroads demon, about the fact that the clock was still ticking on his deal. He suspected Sam assumed that was over with, since Dean was dead and still there, not in hell. But Sam had never come right out and said that, so it wasn't exactly like Dean was keeping it from him, was it? Besides, if he told Sam, no doubt his brother would start looking for ways to undo it again. And much as Dean wanted to be able to talk to Sam normally, he didn't want it to happen because Sam had dropped fucking dead.

_NO_, he responded, and told himself it wasn't exactly a lie.

~*~

The street was much as Dean remembered it: a row of undistinguished houses on either side. Also as he remembered, the number Casey had given didn't exist; the houses stopped several numbers before it.

He stayed slightly ahead of Sam as they walked down the road. Most of Sam's attention appeared to be on the houses to either side; Dean concentrated on the shadows at the end of the street, where there seemed to be a small park. When Sam halted at the end of the road and turned in a circle, looking around, Dean continued across to the park, walking in amongst the few trees and checking whether there were any signs of anything suspicious. It appeared to be deserted, though, as far as he could see, and he couldn't find anything obviously demonic among the trees.

He walked back to where Sam was standing, pressing a hand against his back so his brother would know he was there.

"Anything?" Sam murmured.

Dean squeezed his arm twice. _No_.

Sam nodded towards the house on the left side of the street. "That's the house where the old lady was found dead."

Sam's insistence on research before setting out had come in useful: they'd turned up a newspaper article about the death of an elderly woman in the street several weeks ago. The newspaper had reported it as suicide, and they didn't really have any reason to think otherwise - except that Casey had given this street as her address, and if demons might have been hanging around here, then all deaths had to be treated as suspicious.

Dean looked at it, studying the dark windows, and nodded. _Back_, he tapped in Morse.

"Okay," Sam agreed, and started walking towards the park before - with a last glance behind him to make sure no one was looking - ducking along the side of the house and around to the back door.

Dean watched as his brother pulled out his lockpicks, and shook his head. He touched Sam's left hand once to let him know the plan.

"Dean, wait!" Sam hissed. "We don't know what might be in there -"

"I'm dead, Sam, what else can happen to me?" Dean muttered, and slipped through the door.

Inside, the house appeared as dark and deserted as it had looked from the outside. Dean spared a glance at the hallway he was standing in, then turned his attention to the door. Sam was still working on the lock, and Dean bent to examine it, then reached _into_ it.

There was a click as it unlocked, and he punched the air in triumph. "Oh, hells yes!"

Sam's face was a picture as he straightened up and put the picks back in his pocket. "Show-off," he muttered and stepped inside.

Dean laughed and swung the door closed behind him. "You're just jealous because I'm faster than you, Sammy."

Sam pulled out a flashlight and played it up and down the hallway. "Okay, let's take a look around." He paused, and Dean knew exactly what he was thinking: normally, in a situation like this, they'd split up to cover the ground faster. But under the circumstances...

Well, Dean would still be able to hear Sam if he yelled. And what trouble could Dean run into at this point?

He touched Sam's arm and tapped out _Going upstairs_.

"I don't think we should separate," Sam said. "We don't know what might be here, Dean."

"A whole lot of nothing, I'm betting," Dean said, and tapped out, _Be fine. Yell if need_.

Sam still didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded his agreement. "Okay. Be careful."

Dean patted his back once, and headed for the stairs.

Upstairs was creepy only in the little-old-lady vibes the place was giving off. Dean paused to stare at a framed cross-stitch of a kitten playing with a ball of wool, then moved on along the hallway with a shudder.

He slipped through the first door he came to, and found himself in what he guessed was a spare bedroom. The bed was still neatly made; a thin layer of dust lay over everything, from the ugly orange lamp on the bedside table to the equally ugly vase on the windowsill. The place didn't look like it had been used in a long time, much longer than the couple of weeks the woman had been dead. Maybe that also explained why none of her belongings appeared to have been packed up yet: probably no family nearby.

Dean passed back through the door and checked out the bathroom at the end of the hall. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary, though patterned pink tiles and a cat-shaped toilet-brush holder weren't exactly to his taste. It took a bit of effort to slide aside the mirror that doubled as the front of the medicine cabinet, but he managed it and peered at the little bottles of pills inside. There seemed to be quite a few different varieties, but the newspaper report had said Mrs. Green was over seventy, so Dean guessed that was probably normal. He eyed the level of the pills in each bottle. The report hadn't said how she was supposed to have killed herself, but it didn't look like an overdose was likely. And since the bathroom still appeared to be fairly clean and tidy, she probably hadn't slit her wrists, either.

He only stuck his head into her bedroom: he was already staring to think that the house was a bust. Maybe Casey had killed Mrs. Green and maybe she hadn't, but either way it certainly didn't look like she'd been staying here before she'd gone after Ben.

Dean started back down the stairs, ready to find Sam and get out of there. He might not be able to sleep, but Sam had to be exhausted by now after driving all day. They could try checking out the music store in the morning, maybe Sam would have better luck there than he'd had.

He was almost at the bottom of the stairs when he glanced up and saw Sam crouched just inside the kitchen, intently examining something on the floor.

And advancing on him, fingers hooked and teeth bared in a snarl, was what could only be the hollow-eyed ghost of Mrs. Green.

Dean didn't even think, instinct taking over. "SAM, LOOK OUT!"

He barely had time to see Sam's head snap up before he was _there_, suddenly between Sam and the ghost, with no recollection of crossing the space to reach that spot. He didn't bother to question it, just held his ground, glaring at the spirit.

He could see now how she'd died, the dark bruising around her neck and her discolored face telling him she'd either hung herself or been strangled. Her eyes were filled with fury, and she snarled and launched herself at him.

Dean was expecting her to go right through him, and was hoping Sam had figured out enough of what was going on to defend himself. So he was caught completely off-guard when she _hit _him.

"Son of a -" he cursed, struggling against her. Damnit, why hadn't it occurred to him that ghosts might be able to touch him now that he was one himself?

He was pretty certain that if they'd both been alive, he'd have been able to take Mrs. Green in about three seconds flat, and that was allowing time for her to thwap him with a walking stick or whatever - he didn't underestimate little old ladies in a fight, he'd experienced for himself once or twice how vicious they could be when provoked. But she wasn't reliant on a walking stick, and muscle strength wasn't much good to him now he didn't have any muscles. As she sank her clawed hands deep into his shoulder, snarling against his face, Dean yelped in pain and was forced to admit that they were much more closely matched than he'd expected. In fact, he was quite possibly outmatched.

Sam yelled something behind him, and Dean made himself concentrate. Outmatched or not, he was damned if he was going to let her go after Sam.

~*~

Sam swore and shifted his grip on the shotgun. There was no way he could shoot, not when Dean was obviously fighting with Mrs. Green's ghost - it was impossible to get a clear shot, especially since he couldn't see his brother. And salt didn't lend itself to clear shots anyway, it always went everywhere. Normally that was an advantage, but Sam had shot his brother with salt once in life and regretted it. He didn't want to think about the damage it would cause if he did it again now Dean was dead.

It was hard to just stand back and wait when his brother was in danger, though. Sam tried frantically to think of something he could do, but he couldn't come up with anything that would damage the ghost without hurting Dean, too.

The ghostly figure suddenly shifted to the other side of the room. Sam swung round, taking aim, but stopped short as he saw she was still fighting with something invisible, something that could only be Dean.

"Dean, get clear!" he yelled again. "I can't get a clear shot while you're fighting her!"

He heard a muffled curse, and then _felt_ Dean passing through him, an instant of his brother's pain before Dean was gone again. Sam didn't have more than a split-second to worry before Mrs. Green's ghost lunged at him, fury in her eyes and something that looked like blood dripping from her clawed hands.

He brought the shotgun up and fired, and she dispersed with a scream.

"Fuck me," Dean's voice said weakly in the ensuing silence.

Sam turned at once, looking around. "Jesus, Dean, where are you? Are you hurt?" The kitchen table behind him was a couple of inches away from where it had been, and he moved in that direction.

"Here I thought being dead meant I finally had a free pass on getting beaten up," Dean complained. "Jeez. Little old ladies are fucking vicious, I've always said so."

"You never really got over Mrs. Wilkins chasing you with her stick when you almost ran over her cat on your bike, did you?" Sam said, dropping to his knees next to the table and reaching out, feeling around carefully. He touched something solid in thin air and ran his hand over it. "Is that your shoulder?"

"Quit feeling me up, Sammy," Dean said. "And Mrs. Wilkins was a fucking bitch. Her cat was a menace, too, I'd have been doing her a favor."

"I don't think she saw it that way," Sam said drily, feeling along Dean's shoulder carefully. "Are you hu- " He cut off abruptly as realization hit.

"Yeah, well, she was blind as a bat, she didn't see what a -" Dean broke off suddenly too.

There was silence for a moment, then Dean said weakly, "Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam said, his heart pounding.

"Oh," Dean said, sounding completely floored. "Wow."

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "That's all you've got to say? Now you finally don't have to tap everything out in Morse code, you can't manage anything longer than three letters?"

"I'll give you goddamn Morse," Dean said, and punched his arm.

Sam couldn't seem to stop laughing. He lowered his head to rest against Dean's shoulder and shut his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

"So," Dean said after a while. "How come you can hear me now? Or could you hear me all along, and the whole thing was an excuse for you to ignore me? Or make me use a goddamn Ouija board?"

Sam finally managed to bring his laughter under control, though he didn't feel quite ready to raise his head from where it was buried against Dean yet. "Yeah, Dean. It was all a ruse to get a picture of you using a Ouija board. For blackmail purposes."

"I knew it," Dean said. Sam couldn't get enough of hearing his voice, soaking up the familiar intonation and the sound of his brother's teasing. _God_, it was good to hear him.

"I think it was when you yelled," he said, more to keep Dean talking than anything else. "You did yell, didn't you?"

"I saw her creeping up on you," Dean said. "It was kinda stupid, really, I knew you couldn't hear me, but..." Sam felt Dean's shoulder shrug beneath his forehead. "It was just instinct." He laughed. "If I'd known yelling was all it took, I coulda shouted back at you when you were having your hissy fit back at the motel."

"I was _not_ having a hissy fit," Sam protested. "And I don't think it was the yelling so much, more that you needed me to hear you - you were trying to warn me."

"You were totally having a hissy fit," Dean confirmed. Sam felt his hand ruffle his hair. "You hurt?"

"No, she didn't get near me," Sam said. "I blasted her with rock salt. How about you, are you hurt?"

"I'm dead, Sam, there's a limit to what anyone can do to me now," Dean said.

"That's not what I asked," Sam said, raising his head at last. He wished like hell he could see Dean, read in his eyes whether his brother was keeping something from him or not, but he'd settle for his voice right now. God, Dean's voice. After days of silence and shorthand conversations through Ouija boards and code, Sam could barely believe he'd ever in his life wished for Dean to shut up.

"That little old lady makes a mean ghost," Dean admitted. "She had a pretty good go at me."

"Where are you hurt?" Sam asked, his hands already skimming Dean's shoulders and down across his chest. "I still can't see you, Dean, you'll have to tell me -"

"Dude, chill," Dean said, and Sam felt his brother's hands close gently around his wrists, stilling them. "I'm okay. My shoulder hurts like a bitch, but it's not like she could do any real damage. It'll probably wear off by morning. I'm fine, seriously."

If his brother had tapped that out in Morse code, Sam wouldn't have believed him for a minute, but he could read Dean's voice, his brother's intonation a code he'd mastered long before Morse, and was reassured. "Okay, if you say so. C'mon, let's get out of here and go back to the motel. We can salt and burn Mrs. Green tomorrow."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean said wearily.

Sam scrambled to his feet and extended his hand. He felt Dean grasp it, and hauled him up, wincing at Dean's groan. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean said. "Let's just get out of here before grandma pulls herself together ag-" He cut off, and Sam felt his brother's hand twist in his grasp as Dean turned in the direction of the door.

Sam had heard it too: the sound of the back door swinging open.

He raised the shotgun again, letting go of Dean to check his handgun was in easy reach if whatever was coming inside turned out to be corporeal.

"Stay here," Dean murmured, almost whispering even though it seemed unlikely anyone else would be able to hear him. "I'll go look."

Sam gritted his teeth, but stayed where he was - if he moved, there was a risk that whatever was approaching would hear him. He listened as intently as he could.

Footsteps. Faint and muffled by Mrs. Green's worn pink carpet, but distinct. Sam carefully slid out his handgun and shifted it to his right hand, taking the shotgun in his left hand instead.

"What the hell?" he heard Dean say, and braced himself.

The figure that appeared in the kitchen doorway was too deep in shadow for Sam to make out many details, but it stopped when it saw him and the gun he had leveled at it.

"Don't move," Sam ordered. "Who are you?"

"Dude, he looks human," he heard Dean say from somewhere close behind the figure. "Doesn't seem to be armed, either."

The figure took another stop forward and the moonlight shining through the kitchen window hit him full on, revealing a thin man who couldn't be much older than Dean, thin wire spectacles perched on his nose.

"So there _was_ a ghost here, then?" the man asked, with no hint of nervousness in his voice.

~*~

They ended up at a nearby diner, as Sam hadn't been comfortable staying in the empty house for longer: the risk that the ghost might reappear and attack Dean again was too high. Much as he wanted to just go back to the motel and make sure Dean was okay - and talk to him, god - he really needed to find out what the hell this stranger's story was. He looked human, but then a lot of things did.

He took a leaf out of Bobby's book and managed to slip a little holy water into the stranger's coffee, relaxing slightly when he sipped it without any obvious effect.

"Thomas," the stranger said. "Thomas Blackford. I take it you're in the business too, then?"

Sam considered playing dumb, but discarded the idea. "You might say that. I'm Sam, Sam Winchester."

He was half-expecting some kind of reaction - it seemed like every hunter they met these days knew either them or their father, and not too many seemed well-disposed towards them - but Thomas just nodded without any sign of recognition.

"You're not from around here, I guess," he said. "I'd probably have run into you already, otherwise."

"No, I... travel around some," Sam said. "You work mostly in this area?"

"Probably still living at home in his parents' basement," Dean said, his knee pressing against Sam's under the table. "Playing crap music all day."

"I grew up here," Thomas said. "And yes, I mostly stick to the towns around here, or occasionally go to Indianapolis for a job if something special's up there."

"Dude, c'mon, this dweeb is no hunter," Dean said. "He wasn't even armed when he broke into that house. He's a wannabe, I'm telling you."

"What kind of hunting do you do?" Sam asked, trying not to let Dean's commentary distract him too obviously. It was just as well no one seemed able to hear Dean but him.

"Ghosts, spirits, poltergeists, mostly." Thomas grinned. "That's my specialty. The number of spirits loose in the towns around here is about zero."

Dean snorted. "Not any more, Tommy boy."

Sam tried not to laugh. "Really? That's interesting. W- I tend to go after the supernatural generally, whatever I run across."

Thomas shrugged. "Different methods, same goal. You ran across a ghost in that house, didn't you?"

Sam scrutinized him for a long moment. There was something about the guy that bothered him slightly, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He didn't think Dean was right that Thomas was just a wannabe - something about the way he was returning Sam's scrutiny suggested he was a hunter - but he didn't seem to have any kind of grudge against the Winchester family.

"I did," Sam said after a moment, watching as Thomas's eyes lit up. "A Mrs. Green died there recently, I think it was her."

"Two weeks ago, apparent suicide," Thomas confirmed. "I thought she might be putting in an appearance by now. How far along was she?"

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

Thomas gestured impatiently. "Was she visible? Did she manage to touch you? How did she react to salt - I'm assuming you salted her."

"I could see her, yes," Sam said slowly. "She didn't get a chance to touch me, though - I shot her with rock salt."

"And she didn't re-form before I arrived," Thomas said, leaning back and looking thoughtful. "So she's still fairly weak."

"You mean ghosts get stronger?" Sam asked, unable to restrain his interest now.

"Of course," Thomas said, sipping his coffee. "It varies from ghost to ghost, of course, but mostly they're quite weak right after they die. And then they get stronger and crazier at the same time. It's the ones that have been around for a while that pose a real threat. They're all nasty, of course, but the old ones can cause more damage."

Sam nodded absently, thinking about the implications. That might mean Dean was getting stronger, too - that at some point he might be able to see his brother again. In fact, maybe this 'specialist' would be able to give him some useful information.

"Don't tell him about me," Dean said suddenly. "I know that look of yours, Sam. I still don't trust this guy. Don't tell him I'm hanging around."

Sam swallowed down what he'd been about to say. Dean was right, of course: he didn't know enough about Thomas yet to risk telling him about their current situation, even if there was a chance the guy would be able to offer some useful advice.

Besides, the 'nasty' comment was possibly not a good sign.

"Some of them are fairly harmless," he said, trying to draw Thomas out. "I've run across one or two who just needed a helping hand." He thought of the ghost he and Dean had met on Highway 41 and the way she'd disappeared as the sun rose, once they'd finally explained to her she was dead.

Thomas laughed. "No offense, but I don't buy it. I bet even your friendly ghosts hurt a few people, didn't they? Even if they didn't mean to?" He took another sip of his coffee. "There's no such thing as Casper. Once you start feeling sorry for them, you've got a problem, because eliminating them is the only option. It's too bad they're dead, but they are, and they shouldn't be hanging around hurting the living."

Dean had gone very silent next to him, and Sam surreptitiously pressed his leg against his brother's.

"I don't think it always has to be like that," he said. Though admittedly, when he thought about it, Molly McNamara had caused quite a few fatal accidents on that stretch of road before they'd met her. "Not in every case."

"Every case I've come across," Thomas said. "And I've looked into every murder and suicide and odd accident in these parts for the past... well, quite a few years. Oh, they might not _mean_ to cause problems, and it may not happen right away. I'm not saying they were evil people in life - I bet Mrs. Green was a lovely old lady - but they're not people any more. They're _ghosts_. And they lose more and more of the people they once were. Trying to spare them just means you're setting up someone else to get hurt by them." He set his cup down. "Anyway, that's all theoretical, isn't it? The ghost in the house was aggressive, or I imagine you wouldn't have salted it."

Sam was happy to let the subject drop. "Yeah, she tried to attack me. I've got no problem with salting and burning her."

Something flickered across Thomas's face, but it was gone before Sam could decipher it. "Okay, good. Why don't we deal with it together?" He grinned. "No offense, it's not that I don't think you can handle it - but this is my area, and I like to make sure. I've had to clean up once or twice behind a hunter who's passed through and hasn't been thorough enough, so now I try to come along when I can, you know?"

"Sure, that makes sense," Sam said. And he supposed it did; maybe that was one difference about living in one area and hunting only there - feeling responsible for that area, trying to protect it. Like having a home. It sounded like kind of a nice idea. "We'd be better off leaving it until it's dark tomorrow, I think - less chance of someone seeing us in the cemetery."

"Then how about we meet at sunset?" Thomas suggested. "Back at Mrs. Green's house - inside, actually, less chance of anyone seeing us standing around. The cemetery isn't far away from there."

"Okay," Sam agreed. That would give him plenty of time during the day to follow up a few more leads on the demons. A simple salt and burn shouldn't take up too much time, and it would give him a chance to pump Thomas for more information about ghosts, which might come in useful.

For now, though, he was worried about how quiet Dean had turned. And though his conversation with Thomas had been interesting, and he knew talking to the man and finding out more about him had been the sensible thing to do, Sam was still desperate to go back to the motel and talk properly to his brother for the first time in days.

"I think I'm going to call it a night," he said, glancing at his watch. "Kind of a long day. See you tomorrow, then?" He pulled out a couple of bank notes and dropped them on the table.

"See you then," Thomas agreed easily. He smiled. "Sleep well."

Sam slid out of the booth, frowning slightly when Dean didn't touch him, didn't say anything. There was nothing he could do, though, while Thomas was still around, and so he headed for the door, feeling his steps speed up as he walked.

As soon as he was outside, he murmured, "Dean?"

For a moment there was nothing, and then he felt a hand press briefly to his back. "Yeah."

Sam couldn't suppress a sigh of relief, only realizing then how afraid he'd been that his being able to hear his brother had just been a temporary aberration.

"C'mon," he said, reaching for Dean's wrist and pulling him in the direction of the Impala. "Let's get back to the motel."

~*~

Dean stayed quiet as Sam led the way into the motel. He supposed he could have just gone through the door without waiting for his brother to unlock it, but Sam had hold of his wrist again, and Dean couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. Sam would just start asking about his feelings or something, and this time he'd be expecting Dean to answer him.

Besides, the thought of passing through the door didn't really seem that attractive right now, somehow.

Sam shut the door behind them, shucking off his jacket. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah," Dean said. Sam could hear him again. His shoulder was still fucking sore from where that bitch ghost had clawed him, but it wasn't like he had to worry about any complications there. And Sam hadn't managed to find any demons to get himself killed. All in all, the day had to count as a win, right?

Sam was smiling a little. "I figured now you could talk again you'd be impossible to shut up."

Dean looked away. "Yeah, well. Just goes to show."

"How's your shoulder?" Sam asked. He was kind of hovering in the middle of the room, like he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

"It's fine," Dean said.

"Let me see," Sam said, as if suddenly reaching a decision. He reached out and caught Dean's wrist again. Dean wondered why the hell he hadn't moved further away while Sam was taking off his jacket, but allowed his brother to tug him across to sit on the edge of the bed.

"It's not like you can see anything, dude," he pointed out, quite reasonably, he thought.

"That's not the point," Sam said.

Okay, that made no sense at all. "What?"

Sam was already slipping a hand beneath his jacket. "I don't suppose you can take these clothes off, can you?"

Dean glanced down at his leather jacket and the shirt he was wearing underneath it. "I don't know. I don't think I want to try it right now."

"Okay," Sam said calmly, now running a hand across Dean's shoulder and chest. "Where does it hurt?"

"It's not like there's a wound or anything, Sam," Dean said. He felt like he ought to pull away, get up and put some distance between himself and Sam, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do so yet. "She clawed right into me, she was a goddamn ghost. It'll probably be fine in the morning."

"It's not even like I can make you take any painkillers this time," Sam said with a sigh. He slid his hand back out from under Dean's jacket, but kept it on his shoulder, a warm weight. "You want to tell me what the problem is?"

Dean shook his head. "I told you, she clawed me -"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Sam said, leaning closer.

Dean pulled abruptly away, moving across the room. "Knock it off, Sam."

"This is about what that guy said," Sam said, sounding as if he'd just confirmed a theory. "Isn't it?"

Dean turned away and stared at the ratty curtains. "He was right."

"No, he wasn't," Sam told him. "Maybe about some ghosts, okay. But he wasn't right about you."

"Wasn't he?" Dean swung back around, even knowing Sam couldn't see him. "He was right that I'm getting stronger, wasn't he? You couldn't even hear me a few hours ago. He was right that I'm getting more... ghost-like. I moved like they do twice today, just, _bam_, right across the room. I - the fucking salt repelled me, Sam! It threw me back. He was right. I shouldn't be here."

"Don't you dare say that," Sam said, his calm evaporating. "Don't you _dare_ say that to me, Dean."

"It's the truth!" Dean stared at Sam defiantly, even though Sam couldn't glare at him. "He was right. Life is for the living. Ghosts just get people hurt. Salt keeps me out these days." He swallowed hard. "I've become one of the things we hunt, Sam. So maybe you should hunt me."

He was fairly certain that if Sam had been able to see him, his brother would have punched him. For a moment Dean thought he might anyway, and almost welcomed it. He felt slightly better just for finally saying it; this was something that had been slowly building up in him ever since he'd found himself standing beside his own corpse, ever since he'd first reached out to Sam and felt his hand pass right through him.

He'd spent his life protecting people from things like him. So why was he going along with Sam's stupid idea to bring him back instead of trying to find a way to just... take himself out of the equation?

"Do you remember when I died?" Sam asked, his voice low and coldly furious.

Dean couldn't help but flinch at that reminder. "Sam -"

"Because back when our positions were reversed - back when _I was dead_ \- what did you do? Salt the doors to try to keep me out? Burn my body? _Hunt me_?" Sam took a step forward, his voice unrelenting.

Dean swallowed hard. "No," he said, barely audible even to himself. God, he hated remembering that time. "But you weren't..."

"Wasn't a ghost?" Sam overrode him. "Wasn't something to be hunted? Well, what about when I _was_, Dean? All the other psychics going crazy, everything pointing to me going evil - I mean, you found me with blood on my clothes, on my goddamn hands. Did you hunt me then? Try to take me out? Hell, what about this year? I know the yellow-eyed demon said _something_ to you about me before it died. I know you've been worried about what I've been doing with Ruby. You get this - _look_ in your eyes each time I shoot another demon. Don't try to deny that you've been wondering. So why haven't you gone after me? Why haven't you tried to kill me, Dean?"

"Because you're not fucking evil, Sam!" Dean yelled. "I don't give a _damn_ what that bitch has been filling your head with, that is _not_ you! You're my goddamn brother, and..." He trailed off, breathing hard.

"Exactly," Sam said, the anger in his voice slowly giving way to satisfaction. "You're my brother, Dean. And I don't give a damn what people think - hell, I don't even give a damn what _you_ think. I _know_ you're not evil. So cut this shit out, because I am _not_ letting go of you, and you might as well get it through your thick skull." He took another step forward and grabbed Dean by the wrist before Dean could think to twist out of reach. "Got that?" His voice softened a little, and his thumb rubbed over the place where Dean's pulse would be beating, if he had one.

It was a moment before Dean could speak. "Sam..." His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

"Promise me," Sam said quietly. "Promise me I don't have to worry about you... running back to Bobby's and trying to set your body on fire or anything stupid like that. Dean..."

Dean cleared his throat. "Couldn't anyway. Can't move further than about fifty feet away from you." He took a deep breath. "Guess... guess you're stuck with me."

"Good," Sam said emphatically. His thumb was still flickering over Dean's wrist, an oddly soothing distraction. "Because Dean the Suicidal Spirit just doesn't have the same ring to it as Casper the Friendly Ghost, you know."

Dean was surprised into a laugh, though it sounded slightly off even to him. "Yeah, I need to work on that one a bit more. Maybe something more like Dean the Ass-Kicking Apparition."

Sam grinned, and Dean felt something that had been drawn tight inside him start to ease. "Ass-kicking, huh? Here I had the impression you got your ass handed to you by a little old lady tonight." He took a step back towards the bed, drawing Dean with him.

"Hey, saved _your_ ass," Dean said, mustering at least token indignation.

"Yeah, okay, you kinda did," Sam conceded, heeling off his shoes and unbuttoning his jeans one-handed; he didn't seem inclined to give Dean back his arm quite yet, and Dean couldn't quite marshal any objection.

He let Sam slip under the covers and then, since Sam was still holding on firmly to his wrist, was forced to clamber over his brother to get to his own side of the bed. He settled down on top of the covers, and Sam adjusted his grip, rubbing his thumb absent-mindedly across Dean's wrist again. Dean knew he ought to pull away, but he was still feeling too adrift to let go of that anchor.

Sam shifted around restlessly for a few minutes, even though Dean was sure his brother had to be exhausted: it had been a long, busy day. Finally, Sam sighed and turned onto his side, and said, "Say something."

"What?" Dean asked, surprised.

"Say something," Sam repeated. "Talk to me. Or hell, sing, anything."

"You're actually _asking_ me to sing?" Wow, there really _was_ a first time for everything.

"Yeah, well," Sam said. "Metallica just didn't sound the same without your caterwauling, go figure."

Dean imagined going through the past few days without being able to hear Sam's voice, and didn't bother arguing with his brother's choice of words. He knew what Sam was saying.

He started humming, and kept going long after Sam dozed off, his hand wrapped warmly around Dean's wrist.

~*~

Researching where Mrs. Green was buried didn't take Sam particularly long the next morning. There was only one graveyard in town, and Thomas had been right when he'd said it wasn't too far away from her house. All it took was a few minutes checking back through death notices online to confirm that she hadn't been cremated or buried elsewhere.

"Looks like we're set for tonight," Sam said, feeling Dean lean in close to read over his shoulder. "Which means we can get some real work done today."

"That sounds vaguely ominous," Dean remarked.

Sam was feeling much better after sleeping for a good eight hours. The fact that he could hear Dean now, have a proper conversation with him - things were shaping up much better than the day before. Although he was still worried about Dean's reaction the previous night, Sam was feeling tentatively hopeful that he might have gotten through to his brother. Dean had still been lying on the bed next to him when he'd woken up.

Maybe Sam ought to be worried instead about the fact that Dean's loud rendition of "99 bottles of beer on the wall" while Sam was in the shower had made him grin instead of want to gag his brother. No doubt that would wear off soon, though.

"So?" Dean asked impatiently. "What constitutes 'real work' in the eyes of Sam Winchester? No, wait, don't tell me. ...The library."

"Actually, that's not what I was thinking of," Sam said, leaning back in his chair. "I think this should be much more your thing, to be honest. I want to go check out that music store."

To his surprise, Dean groaned loudly. "I take it all back. Bring on the library, man."

~*~

The music store had just opened when Sam stepped inside, but Shakira was already proclaiming that her hips didn't lie loud enough to make Sam wince.

He stopped in front of a rack of CDs and pretended to study them closely, picking one out at random and examining the back for a moment before replacing it on the stand. Then he glanced at the young woman at the counter, a pretty blonde who looked up and shot him an inviting smile.

Sam always felt weird about flirting with someone to try to get information: there just seemed to be something disrespectful about it, not to mention that the fakeness of it was a real turn-off. In this case, he wasn't going to try to wheedle information out of her - since Dean had been in asking questions about "Stacey" just a few days ago, they'd decided against taking the direct route. He was supposed to try and coax her away from the desk so that Dean could sneak a quick look at the store's records. And he would do it. He just didn't have to like it.

He pretended to study the CDs for a few moments longer. Dean breathed against his ear, "It's just as well no one can see me here with you, because I would have to _disown your ass_ for looking at that piece of crap."

Sam actually looked at the CD he was holding for the first time, and flushed as he realized it was a Backstreet Boys album. He hastily replaced it on the stand.

"Here she comes," Dean hissed. "Smile at her, that should keep her distracted for a while."

"Can I help you at all?" the woman asked, coming up beside Sam.

Sam smiled awkwardly. "I'm, uh, looking for a CD. For my brother. A present."

The woman dialed her smile up a notch. "What kind of music does he like?"

"Pop music," Sam said earnestly. "He's a real fan of the Backstreet Boys, Britney, all that kind of thing -"

"Oh, you little bitch," Dean said from over by the desk.

"- Justin Timberlake, in particular, boy, does he love Justin," Sam continued, struggling to keep his grin under control. "Not really my taste, though, so I'd appreciate any advice."

"You _will_ be going down for defaming me like this," Dean promised. Then added, "Goddamnit, I cannot take this shit any longer -"

The music cut off in mid-song, and the assistant turned towards the desk, frowning in confusion.

"So, anyway," Sam said hastily, before she could go across and try to turn the CD back on; he really didn't want to know how far Dean would go to stop her. "Do you have any suggestions?"

The woman turned back to him, her smile back in place. "I'm sure we can find the perfect gift for him. Let's see..."

Sam tuned her out, listening instead for Dean's muttered running commentary as he searched for information. He wished now they had thought to practice with Dean typing on the laptop back in the motel room; he imagined it had to be pretty hard to strike the keys instead of going right through them.

"Aha!" Dean said triumphantly. "Employee records. Stacey, Stacey... Okay, the address that guy gave me was accurate, he didn't lie. There's a phone number here too, though, I guess we could check that out."

Sam glanced across in time to see a pen float into the air and hover above a post-it note, and turned hastily back to the assistant, smiling at her encouragingly and nodding at whatever CD she was showing him.

"Okay, I've written it down," Dean said. "Now we've just got to figure out how to get this goddamn piece of paper out of here. Hey, you think if I stick it in my mouth, it'll go invisible?"

"No," Sam said, and cursed himself. Awesome as it was being able to hear Dean, it was going to take a bit of practice to get used to it in public. He smiled apologetically at the assistant. "Um, that is, no, I don't think that's quite what I'm looking for. Maybe the last album you showed me?"

"The Sugababes?" the assistant asked. She smiled broadly. "A great choice, I'm sure your brother will love it."

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," Dean muttered.

"I'm sure he will," Sam said. "Oh - actually, you don't happen to have it on tape, do you? Then he could play it in his car." He grinned at her. "I'll probably never be able to get him to take it out of the tape deck."

"...You wouldn't," Dean said. "Sam, if you play that shit in my car, I will _kick your ass_, ghost or not."

"I'll just go find it," the assistant said cheerfully, and headed over to the cassette section.

Sam went across to wait at the desk, and took the opportunity to slide Dean's post-it into his pocket.

"Here you go," the assistant said, ringing up the purchase and slipping the tape into a small plastic bag. "I sure hope your brother likes it."

Sam grinned. "I'm looking forward to seeing his face when he unwraps it. Thanks for your help."

"Anytime," she said warmly, smiling back at him.

Sam picked up the bag and headed for the door. He wasn't entirely surprised when the woman turned the music back on and shrieked as the sound of AC/DC came blasting over the speakers.

~*~

"So," Sam said. "The phone number turns out to be from the street where Mrs. Green lived." It had taken him a while to decipher the scrawl on the post-it, but he hadn't complained about that to Dean; the shakiness of the writing said enough about how difficult it had been for Dean to manipulate the pen.

He felt Dean come up behind him. "But not her house?"

"Nope." Sam smiled grimly. "The house opposite."

Dean rested a hand on his shoulder, and Sam felt him lean in close to examine the map on the laptop screen. "Son of a bitch."

"Maybe the demons were based there," Sam suggested. "And killed her because she saw something. Or just for fun."

"Maybe," Dean said, not sounding entirely convinced. "I don't get why she'd give a fake address but a real phone number, though."

"I guess she was worried her cover would be blown too early," Sam said. "A small store like that, they probably call to change shifts or whatever - if they'd been completely unable to get hold of her, it would have drawn attention. And the address sounded plausible enough to fool them, but it held you up for a while, didn't it?"

Dean muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary under his breath, and Sam couldn't quite suppress his grin. It was good to know that even though Dean seemed to harbor something of a soft spot for Casey, he wasn't entirely beyond reason when it came to her.

"So I guess we're going back over there to check out the other house?" Dean said, sounding long-suffering.

"I want to call Bobby first." Sam pulled out his cell phone. "We've still got quite a while before we're meant to meet up with Thomas. And I want to find out if he's come up with anything - and whether he's ever heard of Thomas; I'd like to know if this guy's on the level."

"Mm," was all Dean said. Sam suspected he was still uncomfortable with the idea of what Thomas had said about ghosts. He squeezed Dean's arm as he hit the speed-dial for Bobby.

"What trouble have you boys gotten yourselves into now?" was how Bobby answered.

Sam laughed. "You make it sound like we make a habit of getting into trouble."

"He's got us pegged, all right," Dean muttered.

"Don't think I need to answer that one, Sam," Bobby said. "So you're trying to tell me you don't have some kind of new and immediate emergency going on this time?"

"Just the existing ones, I think," Sam said. "Have you had any luck with...?"

"Finding a way to bring back the dead?" Bobby asked. The tone of his voice said it all. "Sam..."

"I - look, I know," Sam said. He felt Dean's hand come to rest on his shoulder as his brother picked up on something in his voice. "Just... keep looking, okay? Please?"

Bobby's sigh gusted down the phone line. "You know I'll try, Sam. For Dean, and for you. I'm just saying, don't get your hopes up."

"I know," Sam repeated quietly, and cleared his throat. "We, um, haven't managed to track down the demons yet, but we've got a good lead now that we're going to check out. And we ran into someone, I was wondering if you'd heard of him. Thomas Blackford?"

"Blackford, Blackford," Bobby muttered. "Specializes in spirits down about there, doesn't he?"

"You've worked with him?" Sam asked.

"No, I've never met him myself," Bobby said. "Known a few folks that _have_ worked with him, though. Not too many - he seems to prefer working alone, and since he's a specialist of sorts, in terms of area and the type of thing he'll deal with... You ran into him?"

"Yeah, we were checking out a house that turned out to be haunted," Sam explained. "We're meeting up with him this evening to take care of the ghost."

"Well, from what I've heard, he's good at what he does," Bobby said. "And it's true enough that the number of spirits round that area is real low."

"Okay, thanks, Bobby," Sam said. "Look, we're going to go check out this lead, but I'll call you tomorrow."

"You boys take care now," Bobby told him. "Both of you."

Sam smiled at that. Whatever Bobby's thoughts on bringing back the dead in general, those few words said everything Sam needed to know about Bobby's feelings where this particular ghost was concerned. "We will. Thanks, Bobby."

"Bobby says he's legit?" Dean asked, his voice neutral.

"Sounds like, at least as far as Bobby knows," Sam said. He glanced at his watch. "It's still early, but maybe we should go check out the house now. If it's a bust, we can always go grab something to eat before we meet up with Thomas, and if it's not, we'll have plenty of time to check the place out."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean said, still sounding less than enthusiastic.

Sam hesitated. "You think it's a bad idea?"

Dean sighed. "No. I just..." He was silent for a moment, and Sam touched his shoulder. "Something about him bugs me, that's all. And I don't like the idea of you going to that house by yourself, even if there's no chance they'll still be there."

"I won't be by myself," Sam said, genuinely surprised. "You'll be with me. ...Won't you?"

"Of course I'll be there," Dean said, the tone of his voice implying that it was one of the stupider questions Sam had ever asked him. "But if they're there, or if anything happens, there's not exactly much I can do to help. I can't watch your back like this."

"You did a pretty good job of it when Mrs. Green went after me, as I recall," Sam said softly, tightening his grip on Dean's shoulder. It hadn't occurred to him that Dean would feel that way, though it should have. Dean had always taken protecting him very seriously.

"She was a ghost," Dean pointed out.

"And even if she hadn't been... you warned me in time. You were watching my back, Dean," Sam insisted. "Besides, I really don't think there's any chance the demons will still be there. They probably skipped town right after..." He hurried on. "Anyway - I think it'll be safe enough. We'll be careful, okay?"

"Yeah, because that always works out so well for us," Dean muttered, but his voice sounded slightly more confident, and his hand brushed Sam's for a moment.

"Okay," Sam said, and tucked his gun into his jacket. "Let's go."

~*~

Since it was only mid-afternoon, they were careful not to walk straight down the street: there was too great a chance of someone spotting Sam and wondering what he was up to. Instead, they left the Impala on the far side of the small park and crossed it on foot, sticking to the trees.

Dean stayed quiet as they walked, concentrating on his surroundings, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. The park was quiet, though; the lack of play equipment for children evidently meant that families tended to go elsewhere. Sam's ever-present grip on his wrist tightened for a moment as they caught sight of someone walking a dog on the other side of the park, but the man wasn't looking in their direction, and Dean quickly tugged Sam on deeper among the trees.

They stopped at the edge of the park to study the house. Dean couldn't help but shoot a glance at Mrs. Green's house first, his free hand coming up to rub ruefully at his shoulder. The bitch had packed a real punch, he'd give her that - his shoulder still hurt like hell. Maybe ghosts just couldn't heal, even from wounds inflicted by other ghosts?

He decided against mentioning that thought to Sam. His brother was worrying about him far too much as things were - the way Sam seemed to be constantly touching him these days was just one sign of that. Dean couldn't quite bring himself to do anything about it: he knew the situation was hard on Sam. And if he was honest with himself, he didn't really want to put a stop to it. The world was unreal around him, he couldn't really touch anyone else, and in less than two months he was going to be losing Sam entirely.

Assuming the stubborn bastard didn't get himself killed before then by going into houses where demons might be waiting for him.

Sam's fingers tightened around his wrist, as if he had picked up on the direction Dean's thoughts were taking, and Dean forced himself to concentrate, turning his attention to the house across the street.

There was no sign that anything was wrong. It didn't look abandoned, or like it was inhabited by demons, for that matter. The windows were all conveniently covered by blinds, though, and Dean didn't think that was coincidence.

"Back?" Sam murmured softly.

"Yeah," Dean agreed reluctantly, but led the way.

The back door offered no clues about what they should be expecting when they went inside. Dean eyed it unhappily, and slipped out of Sam's grasp. "Hold on, I'll go through and let you in."

"Dean, no," Sam hissed as quietly as possible. "It really is too dangerous this time -"

Dean didn't wait to hear more. The possible danger was the reason he was determined to go in first and assess the situation before he let Sam in. Since he was dead, apparently invisible to demons, and hellbound in any case, the logical thing was for him to take the risks, no matter what Sam thought.

He could tell the moment he passed through the door that the demons had been there. Something in the atmosphere inside the house gave it away, the quality of the silence. But it was equally obvious that they were no longer there now, and it was with relief more than anything that he turned his attention to the lock.

Sam already had his gun in hand as the door swung open. "Dean, you -"

Dean cut him off; he was in no mood for lectures. "They were here, but I'm pretty sure they're gone now."

Sam didn't bother asking him why he was so certain, simply nodded as he stepped inside. "Then let's look around. Maybe we'll find something about where they've gone."

The house was dark and barely furnished; Dean wondered if Casey and her lover had taken over an abandoned house, or if they'd posed as human and rented the place officially. Not that it really mattered.

"Sulfur," Sam commented, nodding to the powder on a table.

"I'm gonna look upstairs," Dean said. Then hesitated, remembering how Sam had been attacked the last time he'd done that.

"Yeah, let's," Sam said, as if he'd sensed what Dean was thinking. "There doesn't seem to be anything useful down here."

There was more in the way of furniture upstairs, Dean noted. His favorite touch, though, was the array of mostly empty make-up bottles in front of the bathroom mirror. The thought of Casey - hell, probably her boyfriend, too - slapping on the make-up to try to cover up their decidedly dead appearance made him snort with laughter.

"What?" Sam demanded.

Dean shoved one of the bottles a few inches across the surface. "Just imagining the two of them plastering on the foundation with a trowel. And probably a mountain of blush, too, trying to look vaguely human."

Sam paused and looked in his general direction. "I don't know what the most disturbing thing here is, that image or your unsuspected expertise when it comes to make-up."

Dean flipped him off, then regretted it when he remembered Sam couldn't see him.

"There doesn't seem to be anything useful," Sam said, frustration in his voice.

"They'd have to be pretty damn stupid to leave anything behind saying where they were going," Dean pointed out.

"I guess," Sam said, sounding discouraged. "Maybe we should go check out the warehouse where they were holding Ben - they probably left there in a hurry, maybe they left something behind."

"More foundation, probably," Dean muttered, trying to ignore the unease he felt at the idea of going back there. Still, considering he'd _died_ there, he figured he was probably allowed to be slightly creeped out by the place.

"Worth a try," Sam murmured, almost to himself, moving over to the window and peering absently through the blinds at the street.

Dean saw his brother's back stiffen. "What is it?" He crossed to stand next to Sam and flattened a hand against his back.

"I just saw something move in Mrs. Green's house," Sam said, still looking intently out through the blinds.

"Maybe the old bitch herself?" Dean suggested.

"I don't think so," Sam said. "I only caught a glimpse, but I'm pretty sure it was human."

"Awesome," Dean muttered. "We should check it out, then." Anything to delay going back to that alleyway.

"Yeah, you're right," Sam agreed. "The ghost could do some real damage to whoever it is."

Dean was glad to leave the house behind them: something about the atmosphere there had been getting to him. "I'll go on ahead," he said as they slipped back out the back door. "No one will see me crossing the road. And you can sneak around the back."

Sam looked as though he'd like to argue, but they both knew that someone's life could be in danger, and while Dean probably wouldn't be able to make them leave, he'd shown the previous day that he could hold Mrs. Green's ghost off. "Dean... okay. Be careful."

Dean squeezed Sam's arm once in acknowledgement, and headed straight across the street, passing through the front door of Mrs. Green's house.

For a moment he thought, ridiculously, _It's the wrong house_. The air inside seemed leaden and tense in a way it hadn't even when he'd been wrestling with the ghost the previous night. It was only late afternoon, but the house seemed darker than it had in the middle of the night, as if it were somehow in shadow.

Dean stared around the front hallway, half-expecting to see sulfur somewhere - it was the only immediate explanation that occurred to him - then forced himself to move cautiously forward, further into the house. _Someone's life could be in danger_.

He heard a floorboard creak upstairs, and was already heading for the stairs when he heard a shriek, loud and desperate. Instead of running, he _shifted_ to the top of the stairs, then stopped dead, staring.

It was Mrs. Green, all right. But she didn't appear to be trying to attack anyone: the scream had come from her. She seemed to be trying to fight off some unseen force, something that was ripping at her. Dean stared in shock as she seemed to shred along her edges as she was dragged along the hallway.

Towards Thomas.

The scariest thing was, Dean thought in the split-second as he took in the scene, that Thomas still looked the same as he had sitting opposite them in the brightly lit diner the previous night. He still looked like a dweeb, was just as shabbily dressed, was still peering through his wire-rimmed glasses. And yet even the way Thomas stood now radiated purpose and determination.

_Or maybe that's the knife in his hand_, Dean thought, still trying to figure out what exactly was going on. He'd assumed he would be trying to keep Mrs. Green away from someone, but he'd also assumed it would be for their good, not for her sake. The sight of the thin thread of blood trickling down that blade was enough to make him reconsider, though.

He swung his gaze up to Thomas's face, caught off-guard to see the cold satisfaction there, and by the fact that Thomas appeared to be mouthing something, not loud enough even to be a whisper. Dean caught his breath, realizing exactly where the darkness he'd sensed downstairs had been emanating from.

Thomas's focus was on Mrs. Green, who was still resisting whatever invisible force seemed to be dragging her towards him.

She was a ghost, and a dangerous one. She'd gone after Sam the previous night, and Dean's shoulder was throbbing a painful reminder of how much damage she could inflict. But now her face was twisted with terror as well as fury, and Dean could feel the darkness he'd sensed pressing in and narrowing on her. He hesitated for only a moment longer, then plunged forward, trying to grab hold of her and pull her back.

But he was a moment too late. Even as he moved, Mrs. Green gave another anguished scream and seemed to be sucked forward, to where Thomas was waiting for her -

\- and she vanished.

Dean stopped in his tracks, staring, and noticed for the first time the small glass cube Thomas was holding in his other hand. It was shining now, a pale, unearthly glow, and Dean was almost certain that Mrs. Green's ghost had been sucked _into_ it.

The glow faded slowly, and Thomas inspected the cube for a moment, then tucked it into his pocket and glanced at his watch.

"...Son of a _bitch_," Dean said.

He heard, faint but distinct, the sound of the back door clicking open, and judging by the way his head snapped up, Thomas had heard it too.

~*~

Sam cursed quietly under his breath when he found the back door locked. Either whoever he'd seen inside had entered some other way, or they'd locked the door again behind them. Either way, it was a delay Sam could have lived without, knowing Dean was in there facing down Mrs. Green's ghost by himself.

The lock clicked open and Sam slipped inside, looking around carefully. He didn't dare call out for Dean, not when someone else was in the house, but it proved unnecessary - he'd no sooner shut the door behind him when an invisible hand closed around his wrist, gripping him with an urgency that commanded his immediate attention.

"Sam, he's some kind of - he used magic or something, trapped her in this weird cube thing, be careful -" The words came tumbling out in a rush, and Sam frowned, trying to figure out what was going on, as he touched Dean's hand, offering reassurance.

"Ah, Sam Winchester. You're early."

Sam turned, surprised to see Thomas walking down the stairs. "So are you. We agreed to meet at sunset." His mind was working frantically. _Magic?_

Thomas smiled. "Slight change of plan. Salting and burning always seems such a waste. Not to mention a very rough-and-ready way of going about things."

"He's got a knife," Dean warned. "Watch out for him, Sam."

"It's effective, though," Sam said, shifting slightly so his arm brushed Dean's in subtle acknowledgement. "I've never come across a better method, even if it does involve a lot of work."

"Effective?" Thomas exclaimed. He seemed genuinely angry, and Sam braced himself. "What the hell do you traveling hunters know about effective? You pass through, light a few pretty fires, and then you're gone and someone else has to clean up the mess when it turns out a spirit is still tied to some object or place or person. It's those of us who live here, those of us who care about and protect this region, who have to do the real work while you're off driving into the sunset and patting each other on the back."

"That's not true," Sam objected, keeping his voice as calm and soothing as he could. "Or maybe with some it is, I guess you've had some bad experiences, but we - _I_ don't work that way. I've stuck around to make certain in most cases, I've gone after hooks and necklaces and... and _dolls_ to make sure a spirit's laid to rest."

"It's still a dangerous way of going about things," Thomas said, his voice calmer but still with a hard edge. "Gambling with people's lives while you try to track all those things down, and there's always the risk that you've missed something. Far better to go to the source."

"And how do you do that?" Sam asked. "Magic?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Some people would probably call it that. Sheer ignorance, of course. Spirits are easy enough to trap, if you work at it. Of course, most hunters aren't exactly keen on that, let's face it. But it's the most effective way to remove the threat they pose. Doesn't matter then, what's holding them here. They can't hurt anyone."

Sam felt Dean tense beside him, hand gripping Sam's wrist again, as Thomas moved towards him, eyes sweeping him up and down.

"You died, didn't you, Sam?" Thomas asked without warning.

Dean's grip tightened further, almost painful. Sam couldn't help the jolt that went through him at the words. He didn't know how to reply, but Thomas didn't appear to expect one, already nodding.

"I can see the scars death left on you," he said abstractedly. Sam shifted uneasily under his gaze. "I thought that was what I was sensing at first, you know, the fact that death has touched you, shaped you. Then I remembered your father talked about _two_ sons, and it all began falling into place."

"Oh, you fucker," Dean whispered. Sam was surprised his grip hadn't drawn blood yet.

"You knew our father?" Sam asked. He was half-dreading the answer, but he needed to know.

"A better traveling hunter than most," Thomas said, smiling. "I'm not sure he agreed entirely with my methods, they verged a bit too much on the supernatural for him, but he certainly approved of the results. He had no patience with ghosts. Did you mean to do it, Sam?"

"Do what?" Sam took a half-step back, grateful when he felt Dean move with him.

"Bind your brother's spirit to you," Thomas said bluntly. "Necromancy's not an art for dabbling in, you know. Or was it an accident? Blood everywhere, begging him not to leave you, that sort of thing?"

Sam felt as though he'd been slammed in the gut. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Thomas exhaled sharply. "You seem like a decent kid, Sam. And your father was all right too. I'm trying to help you here, so stop lying to me. I know Dean's here. I'm guessing you can hear him, maybe even see him or touch him by now. Maybe you didn't mean to bind him to you, but you did. And unless something's done, you're going to wind up as dead as he is. That's not what your brother would have wanted for you, is it? Back when he was alive?"

"What does that mean?" Dean asked sharply.

Sam took a instinctive step forward, trying to put himself between Thomas and Dean. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You really don't have a clue what you're dealing with, do you," Thomas said. "Listen up, kid. A ghost, a spirit like your brother is now, is pure energy. And that energy is finite. Which means that every time he exerts himself - moves something, say - part of that energy is expended, and he can't regenerate it. He can only draw on other sources."

Sam heard Dean's breath catch, and knew his brother had, like him, already jumped ahead to the next logical step. "Like me."

"Primarily you, yes," Thomas said, with a note of satisfaction. "He's bound to _you_, after all, and a bond like that..."

"Oh, _fuck_," Dean whispered, almost inaudibly.

Sam reached back, touching his arm to steady him. "You're wrong. He hasn't had to do anything like that. You're -"

"Not yet, maybe," Thomas interrupted. "Or perhaps it's just not been noticeable so far. But it'll happen, believe me. Ghosts grow meaner with time, they lose more and more of their last resemblance to the people they were when they were alive. They go crazy, Sam. They all do. There's no reason why your brother should be immune. He's not your brother any more. He's a _ghost. _He'll turn on you, and soon. He'll drain you, and then he'll start turning on others, too."

"You don't know that," Sam said steadily. "You don't know my brother. And you sure as hell don't know _me_."

Thomas stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "You may be right." He turned away, a hand slipping into his pocket. Sam braced himself, readying to dodge an attack if he pulled a knife.

"Sam, look out!" The fear in Dean's voice caught Sam off-guard. He knew he was taller, heavier and stronger than Thomas - even if he pulled a knife, Sam was confident he could take him.

When Thomas turned, though, he wasn't holding a knife. Instead, he had a small glass cube in his hand.

"_Sam_!" Dean yelled.

Sam was already moving, but not fast enough. Thomas gestured in his direction with the cube -

And suddenly Sam was flying through the air, just time to think _Holy shit_ before he crashed hard against the edge of the kitchen table, pain shooting through his head and back.

The world went grey and hazy for a moment before he managed to force back threatening unconsciousness enough to hear Dean yelling his name frantically. He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his vision.

He saw, blurrily, that Thomas had a knife in his hand now, cutting his own arm so that the blood flowed freely. Thomas's mouth was moving, but Sam couldn't tell whether he wasn't hearing anything because Thomas was only mouthing whatever words he was reciting, or because the ringing in his head was just too loud.

"SAM!"

His brother was a few feet away, gaze darting from Thomas to Sam. He looked like he was fighting to move towards Sam, but was somehow being held to the spot. It was too much for Sam to take in. He blinked several more times, dazedly, as the realization dawned that he could _see_ Dean.

"SAM!"

Dean took a stuttering step in Thomas's direction, and the fog in Sam's head finally shifted enough for him to realize things were horribly wrong.

"Dean," he groaned, and began trying to force himself to his knees, fumbling for his gun. Before he could convince his uncooperative fingers to grasp it properly, he saw Thomas's gaze flick to him for an instant.

Then he was smashed back against the table again, the gun skittering out of his hand and across the floor. He dimly heard himself cry out as his head struck the corner, and he collapsed sideways onto the floor.

"_SAM_!"

Sam managed to force his eyes open for a second, long enough to see the cube glowing in Thomas's hand. Then the glow faded, and the world with it.


	6. Chapter 6

The world came back slowly. Sam groaned and blinked, one hand creeping up to touch his head. The explosion of pain made him moan again, his eyes slamming shut.

_Dean_.

Sam's eyes flew back open and he tried to force himself up, what felt like every part of his body registering a protest. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he leaned back against the table leg, concentrating on not throwing up, not passing out.

"Dean?" he managed to ask, though his voice was weak and cracked.

Sam scrubbed a hand across his eyes, and realized that it wasn't simply his vision playing tricks on him - the house was fully dark, no daylight filtering through the kitchen window. Jesus, how long had he been out? And where the hell was Dean?

"Dean!" he called, relieved that his voice was stronger this time. _Time_. He raised his wrist with an effort and squinted at it, trying to remember what time they'd come to the house. Before sunset, he knew that much, because he'd been surprised to see Thomas -

_Oh fuck_.

"_Dean_!" Sam yelled, already knowing there would be no reply. That cube - the one the bastard had used to throw him across the room - he could remember it glowing. And what was it Dean had said? Something about "trapping her" in it - Mrs. Green, presumably.

And now Thomas was gone. And he'd trapped Dean and taken him with him.

Sam forced himself to his knees, then levered himself to his feet, bracing himself against the table. The world spun sickeningly around him, but he gritted his teeth and held on until it subsided slightly. He didn't have time to pass out again -

Time. That was what he'd been trying to figure out. Sam twisted his wrist again to see his watch. After ten. He'd been out for a while, then. Adding that to the way his thoughts were jumping, confused, from one topic to another... he exhaled sharply. If he was lucky, it would just be disorientation and fade soon. If he had a concussion...

If he had a concussion, tough. He needed to find Dean. His head would just have to deal with it.

Sam staggered slowly across the room. Stooping to pick up his gun, which was lying near the door, almost made him pass out again, but he leaned against the wall and concentrated on breathing until the dizziness subsided. Opening the back door was a challenge, but he made it outside and leaned against the door for a minute, sucking in the fresh air and enjoying the cool of the night air against his head. _God, that feels good_.

He realized with a jolt that his eyes had slid shut, and berated himself for getting distracted again, especially when Dean was in danger. He forced himself to step away from the wall and make his way through the back yard, out towards the park.

Sam wished now that they'd left the Impala closer to the house. He was able to hold onto trees for support for most of the way, but his progress felt painfully slow. By the time he reached the car, he didn't have the strength to do much more than drop into the driver's seat. He didn't dare try driving quite yet.

Besides, he didn't have the first clue where to go.

He fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial for Bobby.

"Bobby," Sam whispered, listening to the phone ringing. "C'mon, c'mon, pick up."

"Hello?"

Sam had rarely been so grateful to hear Bobby's voice, and given the nasty situations the man had helped them out of in the past, that was saying something. "Bobby."

"Sam, what's happened?" Bobby demanded at once.

"He's got Dean," Sam choked out, and let his eyes slide shut. Just for a moment.

"Sam? SAM!"

The sound of Bobby yelling roused him again. "Don't need to shout."

"How badly are you hurt?" Bobby asked.

Sam rubbed his head. "Not bad. Bobby, he's got Dean."

"Who has?" Bobby prompted. "Tell me what happened."

"That bastard Thomas," Sam spat, and did his best to give Bobby an account of what had happened. He suspected from the way that Bobby prompted him several times that it was a rather wandering version, but Bobby seemed to get the point.

"Sounds like he's a necromancer," Bobby said finally. "From what he said to you, anyway. And the fact that he was able to knock you across the room with that receptacle. He seems to be able to draw on ghosts' energy once he's trapped them."

"Why did nobody know about that?" Sam tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice; it wasn't Bobby he was angry with, not really.

Bobby sighed. "Maybe they did. If he doesn't use the energy to hurt the living..."

"He trapped my brother in a goddamn cube!" Sam yelled.

"I'm trying to explain to you why plenty of hunters might not have thought it worth mentioning, Sam," Bobby said firmly. "Most of them, if not all, see the supernatural as the enemy. Imprisoning ghosts... most wouldn't see that as a bad thing. Hell, Sam, they probably weren't too thrilled by his methods, but from a hunter's point of view, he's damn effective. He's stopping ghosts from interfering with the living, and what hunter's going to get up in arms about ghosts' rights?"

Sam swore. He knew Bobby was right - even he and Dean tended to assume that the supernatural was the enemy, and the few exceptions they'd run into tended to stick out in his mind as unusual cases. Hell, if he was honest with himself, if it hadn't been for the fact that it was _Dean_ who had been trapped - and, okay, also the part where he'd been flung across the room, because his head still hurt like a bitch - Sam probably wouldn't have been too outraged by Thomas's methods.

"Like Dad," he said, remembering. "He said he knew Dad. Did you know about that?"

"No, I didn't," Bobby said. "Your daddy and I weren't always on the best of terms - I guess maybe they met at some point when he and I weren't speaking. Or maybe John had his own reasons for not mentioning him."

"Or maybe he was lying," Sam said, considering. "He can't be much older than Dean, so unless he was already trapping ghosts as a kid..."

"_How_ old did you say he was?" Bobby asked, a strange note in his voice.

Sam frowned. "I just told you - about Dean's age, give or take a year or two."

Bobby was silent for a moment, then said, "Well, there's a thing."

Sam forced himself more upright. "What?"

"Maybe he just looks real young for his age," Bobby said cautiously. "But he's older than that, Sam. A lot older."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked slowly.

"The hunters I know who've run into him, they put him at about that age too," Bobby said. "Only for at least one of them, that was nigh-on twenty years ago. The other, that was maybe ten, fifteen years ago. I thought then he must be ageing well, or that old Pete wasn't real good at judging ages any more. Now, though, I wonder."

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. "What the hell? So... what, he's not human?"

"I don't know about that," Bobby said. "Necromancy ain't exactly my specialty. Maybe the energy he draws from the spirits he traps lets him... hold off death somehow. Maybe necromancers have other ways of dealing with death, it's their field of expertise, after all. I don't know, Sam, but there's no reason to assume he's not human, not without evidence."

_Hold off death_... Sam set that aside to think about later; right now he had other priorities. "I need to find him, Bobby. I need to get Dean back."

"I can be there in -" Bobby started.

"No," Sam interrupted hastily. "There's no time, Bobby, it'll take you too long to get here. And I need you there to research for me. I need you to find out where he lives - it must be somewhere near here, but he never said exactly where."

"You're in no fit state to go chasing after him," Bobby told him. "Sam, you need to go see a doctor, get checked out. Go in like this and all you're going to do is get yourself killed."

"I'm fine," Sam insisted. "It was just - disorientation. I'm feeling better now. And I'll go back to the motel and clean myself up while you're researching, okay? I promise. Just - he has Dean, Bobby. I can't waste time."

Bobby sighed. "You boys. What a pair you make."

Sam waited, biting his lip.

"Fine," Bobby said, giving in to the inevitable. "Go take some painkillers and bandage yourself up, Sam. I'll try to find out more about Thomas."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said gratefully. "Call me as soon as you know anything."

He hung up and turned the key in the ignition, and did his best to concentrate. If he smashed the Impala up after driving with a head injury, Dean would likely threaten to give him another one.

~*~

By the time Bobby called back, Sam had taken some painkillers and, after examining his head as best he could in the bathroom mirror, concluded that the skin wasn't broken and didn't need bandaging, though he did have a large and tender lump on the back of his head. It still hurt like hell, but he was starting to feel less dizzy and disoriented, and was beginning to think that the line he'd fed Bobby might have actually been the truth.

"How are you feeling?" Bobby asked.

"I'm fine," Sam told him. "What have you found?"

Bobby sighed. "I've got a rough location, but not an exact address or anything."

"Where?" Sam asked, grabbing a pen.

"Chesterfield, just outside Anderson," Bobby said. "Just under an hour away from Cicero."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said, already assessing how long it would take him to pack up his things. Would it be better to check out and take everything with him, or leave it and come back once he had Dean?

"Not so fast, Sam," Bobby warned. "You're injured, you're bound to be exhausted, you've got no plan and no idea what you're facing. You can't go charging over there tonight."

Sam tried not to tense up. "He's got Dean."

"And Dean's dead," Bobby said gruffly. "Don't see as Thomas can do too much damage to him overnight. Whereas you could very easily get yourself killed, Sam. Which won't help Dean one jot, less you count keeping him company in whatever receptacle Thomas has got him trapped in."

Sam swallowed. Bobby was right, and he knew it. And the memory of trying to reason with Dean about the same issue, before finding himself bent over his brother's bloodstained body, was still too fresh for him to argue.

"Go to bed, Sam," Bobby said more gently into the silence. "Assuming you really haven't got yourself a concussion, that is - take yourself off to a hospital in that case. But either way, get some rest. I'll try to pin down a more accurate location for you, and do some quick research into necromancy, see if I can find out more about what you're up against and how to reverse whatever he's done to Dean. You're not going to get anywhere by rushing in tonight."

Sam closed his eyes and gave in. "Thanks, Bobby. I do appreciate it, you know."

"Bed, Sam," Bobby ordered. "I'll call you in the morning."

Sam hung up and stared at the bed. He knew Bobby was right, that he needed sleep and to recover a bit if he was going to go up against Thomas again the next day. He was almost certain now that he didn't have a concussion and could risk sleeping in that respect.

But the thought of getting into that bed without Dean there beside him, close enough to touch, held no appeal at all.

He shrugged it off and began to get ready for bed, setting an alarm for six, though he seriously doubted he would be able to sleep that late knowing Dean was trapped. When he ran out of excuses to delay, he turned off the light and slipped into the bed.

It felt resoundingly empty, somehow, without Dean there. Sam had gotten used to being able to reach out and touch him. Not that he'd taken it for granted, not at all - he'd simply come to rely on it, since Dean's death, on having that reassurance, proof of his brother's presence whenever he needed it. They'd lost so much of each other with Dean's death that they'd tried to make the most of the ways they still had each other. Sam had half-expected them to dial back on touching each other so much once he could hear Dean again, but it hadn't happened, and he was stupidly glad about that.

But it made the empty bed all the more difficult to cope with, now; like losing Dean a second time.

Sam forced himself to close his eyes. He clutched Dean's amulet, still hanging around his neck, and told himself that it wasn't going to be a permanent loss.

~*~

It was almost eight o'clock by the time Sam arrived in Chesterfield. He checked the signpost at the end of the street and pulled his phone out.

Bobby sounded just as tired as he had when they'd spoken at six, but also like he'd drunk an awful lot of coffee in the intervening two hours. "I take it you're there."

"Yeah, I'm parked a couple of streets away from the address you gave me," Sam said. "I decided against driving by to take a look at the place - Thomas has seen the Impala, I don't want him to know I'm coming."

"Please tell me you're not going to just go in there blind," Bobby said, sounding like he already had a good idea what the answer was.

Sam suspected the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth was an expression he'd picked up from Dean. Instead of answering, he asked, "Have you found out anything else since we spoke earlier?"

"Well, I confirmed it probably is the right address," Bobby said. "It ain't changed hands for ninety years, it seems."

Sam whistled low between his teeth. "Wow. He really _is_ ageing well."

"Which means he must have a hell of a lot of power at his fingertips," Bobby warned him. "You're going to need to be real careful, Sam."

"Do you have any idea what he might be capable of?" Sam asked. "Other than trapping spirits and flinging me around, that is."

Bobby sighed. "Not much, no - there hasn't really been enough time to research it thoroughly. My feeling is he could probably do a fair bit, if he's got enough power to extend his life that far. I guess the question is what he's prepared to use it for. If he's really a hunter, and that's his main motivation for trapping those spirits, it may be he won't use that power for too much else."

"But you suspect otherwise," Sam said, stating a fact rather than asking.

"I do," Bobby confirmed. "He took you out too fast. If he was a real hunter, he'd have tried to reason with you for longer, tried to talk you round to his way of seeing things. And if that hadn't worked, he'd have tried taking you out of the equation without hurting you that badly. If he was able to fling you across the room, he could surely have pinned you to a wall instead. He may tell himself his real motivation is protecting people from spirits, and maybe it even was, way back when, but I'm thinking that nowadays he's in it for the power."

"So he probably won't hesitate to use it," Sam said. "Okay. Did you turn up anything on the glass cube? How to get Dean out?" He hesitated for a second and added, as casually as he could, "How he draws on the power in one?"

Bobby didn't seem to notice anything odd in his voice. "Well, it seems to be a kind of receptacle; he traps the ghosts and stores them inside it. He's probably built up quite a collection of them over the years, I'm thinking. I'm not sure whether he has to be touching one to draw on the energy in it - probably makes it easier, but I doubt it's essential, so don't go relaxing your guard if he don't have one on him. How exactly it works, I don't know, that'd take more research than I've had time for. As for getting Dean out... I'm not sure about that either. There's gotta be a way of reversing the process, but I ain't found it yet."

"So you're saying I can't just - smash it or whatever?" Sam asked.

"I don't know that that would be wise," Bobby said. "Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn't. But if it did, I don't know what the shock would do to Dean. Besides, from the sounds of it, there's at least one other ghost trapped in there with him, probably more - and if it did work, you'd be setting all of them free, too. It wouldn't be pretty."

Sam sighed. "So you're saying I should grab the cube and run, right?"

"That's about the size of it," Bobby agreed. "Bring it back here and we'll see what we can figure out. And if you see any helpful-looking books while you're in there, you might try grabbing them, so long as it don't put you in too much danger."

Sam nodded to himself. "Okay. Thanks, Bobby. I'll call you afterwards."

He hung up before Bobby could say anything else, and switched his phone off.

~*~

As soon as he saw it, Sam knew he had the right house. It wasn't that it looked any different from any of the few other houses on that road, but there was something about it - it almost seemed to be standing in shadow, despite the cool morning sunshine. He'd sensed something similar when he'd gone into Mrs. Green's house the previous night. There was something dark there.

He stayed behind cover as best he could and studied what he could see of the house from a distance. Two stories plus a basement, he guessed. Maybe an attic too, if he was unlucky. He wondered how many of those cubes Thomas had. The one the necromancer had trapped Dean in had been fairly small, but if he had a lot of them, then either the basement or the attic might be the most likely places for them to be stored. Though that was still far from guaranteed. For all Sam knew, Thomas might keep them in his bedroom.

Well, there was only one real way to find out.

Sam began working his way towards the house, keeping a close eye on it and doing his best to stay out of sight in turn. He was quite close, and had paused to study the front one last time before moving round to the back of the house, when the front door opened and Thomas walked out.

Sam ducked behind a bush, making himself as small as possible and peering through a gap in the leaves. Thomas looked much as he had the day before, but Sam was looking at him with fresh eyes now. His clothes were not merely shabby, they were old-fashioned. His glasses, too, would have better suited a much older man.

Thomas climbed into a battered old car parked outside the house, and Sam held his breath. Surely he couldn't be that lucky?

But it did look like his luck might have finally turned, because after a moment the car roared to life and Thomas drove off down the street.

Sam didn't waste any time: there was no way to know how long Thomas would be gone. He got to his feet and made his way quickly around to the back of the house, scanned it for a second, and picked the lock on the back door.

He wasn't sure what exactly he'd been expecting to find inside, but it wasn't something so thoroughly _normal_. Old pictures hanging on the walls, a television in the living room, a microwave in the kitchen as he walked past. It could have been anyone's house - except for that subtle sense of darkness, like a faint sheen over everything, though Sam suspected no one normal would notice it.

Sam decided to quickly check the upstairs floor of the house before he tried the basement, which he still thought was the most likely location for Thomas to have stored the receptacles. There was a chance that Thomas hadn't added the cube in which Dean was trapped to his collection yet. And he might be able to find some books up there.

Upstairs proved to be a bust, though - the only books Sam found were normal paperbacks, well-thumbed mystery stories and the occasional thriller. He was at least able to rule out the possibility of an attic, as there was no entrance that he could see. Which confirmed his suspicion that the basement was where he needed to look.

The door to the basement was locked, but Sam had no real difficulty in picking it. When he pulled the door open, he knew at once that he had found the right place. The darkness which the stairs led down into was more complete than the mere lack of light would suggest. He reached out and found a light switch, and while it lit the stairs up well enough for him to see the way down, it didn't lift the oppressive atmosphere at all.

Sam took a deep breath and headed down the stairs.

He had to stop when he reached the bottom. Bobby's comment that Thomas would likely have amassed a fairly large collection of receptacles had given him some idea of what to expect, but the sight of them, dozens upon dozens of glinting glass cubes, stacked on shelves that ran right along one wall -

"Shit," Sam whispered, staring around.

The cubes were creepy enough: the sheer number of them, and the way they glinted so oddly, as if catching light that wasn't there. Sam didn't like the look of what was stored on another set of shelves against the next wall, either - two tall glasses, almost vase-like, filled with a dark red liquid that he was willing to bet wasn't wine, and on the shelf below several bones he preferred not to examine too closely. On his side of the room there was a table covered with books and papers, and Sam made a mental note to take as many with him as he could carry when he left.

He turned his attention back to the receptacles, suppressing a shudder as he looked at them. There had to be well over a hundred on the shelves, far too many for him to take them all. How was he meant to know which one Dean was trapped in? How did he know it was even there? What if Thomas had taken it with him?

Sam crossed the room and examined the cubes on the right-hand side of the shelves, figuring that the most likely system would be for Thomas to have begun on the left, though whether from top to bottom or vice versa was less certain. He caught his breath as he drew close and saw for the first time that there was a small label stuck to the shelf in front of each receptacle, with a number written on it. If they were numbered, that meant...

He headed back over to the table covered with books and started examining them. Sure enough, one of them appeared to be a log book of sorts. Sam leafed hastily through it, finding the last entry easily enough.

147.

01.12.08 - James Williamson, 35, car accident.

02.27.08 - Mary Aves, 16, suicide, violent.

03.10.08 - Simon Holloway, 54, possible demon involvement, bloodloss, violent.

03.12.08 - Karen Holloway, 52, probable demon involvement, bloodloss, violent.

03.27.08 - Lara Sinclair, 3, drowning.

04.05.08 - Martin Purves, 40, demon involvement, throat slit, violent.

04.16.08 - Rosalie Green, 72, possible suicide, possible demon involvement, violent.

04.16.08 - Dean Winchester, 29, demon involvement, unknown.

Sam took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm. He had a number now, and that was the main thing. But seeing Dean's name written down like that, just a short, hastily scribbled entry in some kind of log... it turned his stomach.

He hurried back across the room to the shelves of cubes, checking the numbered labels. Receptacle 147 turned out to be on the right-hand side, as he'd suspected, and low enough that he had to crouch down. He hesitated for a second, wondering what effect touching it might have. If Bobby was right that touch made it easier for Thomas to draw on the energy of the ghosts trapped inside the cube - _eight, god, eight of them trapped in this tiny thing_ \- then there was at least the potential for it to have unpleasant effects.

But what other option did he have? He had to get Dean out of there. He took another deep breath and reached out for the cube.

It was cold to the touch, colder than it should have been even in that dark basement, and tingled against his skin, making him shudder. Sam stood up quickly. Time to grab the log book and go.

"Hello, Sam," Thomas said from behind him.

Sam turned around slowly, holding on tightly to the cube. Thomas was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and the power Sam could feel radiating from him in this place completely belied his unassuming appearance.

"You shouldn't have come here," Thomas said quietly. "I know the loss of a loved one can make you... desperate, but this isn't the way. You can still go. I'll let you leave."

Sam tightened his grip on the cube. "Not without my brother."

"Your brother's dead," Thomas said. "He's gone, Sam. What's stored in there, that's not your brother. It's just a shade, a faint echo of what he was. There's a reason we have the phrase 'a mere ghost of something', you know."

"It's my brother," Sam said steadily. "I spoke to him. I _touched _him. It's him, not just an echo, no matter what you think. And I want him back."

Thomas laughed softly, bitterly. "So sure that _your _loved one's the exception. That's what everyone thinks. _No, we loved each other, she wouldn't_... It happens to them all, Sam. They're not human any more, and they all lose their humanity - some sooner, some later, but all of them eventually."

He walked slowly across to the left-hand side of the shelves. Sam turned warily to watch him. "You think you're the only one who's thought that? Who's clung to that delusion until they paid the price?"

Sam said nothing, simply watched.

"You seem like a decent enough kid," Thomas said. "You love your brother, no crime in that. But you don't know what you're doing, so let me tell you a story."

He leaned against the shelves, his eyes dark and knowing on Sam. "I grew up in a haunted house. Things moved, doors opened and closed, there were footsteps on the stairs... well, I'm sure you're familiar with the kind of thing. It scared me. I could feel the presence of the ghost, could feel the darkness it spread through the house. I begged my mother to do something, for us to move, anything."

Thomas paused. "She said to me, 'Your father just wants to be near us, watch over us.'"

Sam didn't allow his expression to change.

"She didn't seem to feel the malevolence of his spirit," Thomas continued quietly. "She found it romantic, I think. Thought he was a good father for taking an interest in me. She didn't want to see the truth. Even when he grew stronger and more violent as the years passed. I tried to get through to her that he was dangerous, that he was going to kill us both if we didn't do something, but she refused to accept it. She loved him, and she wouldn't see that the ghost in our house wasn't really him. I realized I would have to be the one to act."

"So you turned to necromancy," Sam said.

"I read everything I could about controlling and banishing spirits," Thomas said. "And I learned that the only sure way, the only way I could be certain neither of them could stop me, was to trap his ghost. So I studied the ritual as best I could, made my preparations. But I was too slow."

Sam waited.

"He pinned her to the table during dinner one evening." Thomas's voice was emotionless. "She was still laughing, chiding him, acting like it was a joke. I ran for the receptacle I'd prepared, hidden up in my room. When I got back to the dining room he had a knife suspended above her, and I saw her face change as she finally realized... that it was no longer the man she loved."

He met Sam's eyes evenly. "She screamed as he drove the knife through her heart."

Sam swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"I performed the ritual," Thomas said, as if he hadn't heard him. "I was clumsy, though - I was... upset, and it was my first time. I managed to trap him - but not just him. My mother's spirit had barely had time to form. I hadn't taken it into my calculations, didn't know how to control the ritual I was using. She was sucked into the receptacle and trapped with him."

He reached out and touched the first glass cube on the shelf beside him, and Sam winced as it sparked, sharp metallic blue flaring and fading.

"For a long time I agonized about trying to bring her back. The thought of her spirit trapped together forever with her murderer..." Thomas stared at the cube. "But then I realized I was falling into the same trap she had, thinking of the spirit as my mother. If I'd brought her back, I'd have just had to trap her again, because sooner or later she'd have gone the same way he did. And so I left her, trapped in there with him."

He smiled at Sam. "I wonder sometimes what it's like for her in there. Whether his spirit overpowered and devoured hers. Whether she slowly turned the same way he did, became just as dark and malevolent, and now they're ripping each other to shreds in there. Or whether she's happy to have been reunited with him for all eternity, just like she always wanted."

"I'm sorry about your family," Sam said quietly. "But I don't believe it always has to be that way. And even if it does... Dean's my brother. And I won't give up on him."

Thomas sighed. "I was afraid you'd see it that way." He took a step away from the shelves and brought one hand up sharply in Sam's direction -

\- and Sam found himself flying backwards until he was crashing into the wall. Instead of falling to the floor, though, he found himself pinned, an unseen force pressing him back.

Thomas extended his hand, and Sam felt the cube jerk in his grasp. He tightened his fingers as best he could, though he was pinned so securely that it was difficult to move them, and he had no real doubt that Thomas would be able to take it from him.

But he could feel it tingling, feel little jolts, like electricity, spreading up into his arm, and he managed to close his fingers around it more securely, feeling the jerking towards Thomas stop. Thomas lowered his arm, looking slightly perturbed for the first time.

Sam grinned in savage satisfaction. "That's my brother in there. And _you can't take him from me_."

Thomas stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Maybe so. But I don't need to."

He raised his hand again, and the pressure against Sam's chest increased sharply, making it hard to breathe.

"I offered you the chance to leave," Thomas said quietly, almost sadly. "I explained to you why it was necessary. But you wouldn't listen, and I don't think you ever will. Your love for your brother blinds you to reason. I don't think you'll ever face up to the truth, no matter what the cost. And I can't take that risk. I've spent my life trapping these monsters and protecting people from them - I've even extended my own life to make sure these receptacles remain intact and secure. I can't let you try to undo that."

The pressure against Sam's chest increased further, and Sam tipped his head back, struggling for air.

The tingling in his arm spread further, jolting up and across his chest, shooting down into his legs. The pressure didn't ease, but it didn't increase either, and Sam was pretty sure that otherwise he'd have crushed ribs by now. He could see a pale glow emanating from the cube clenched in his hand.

"It's not enough," Thomas said. "Even if you can tap into it through your connection with your brother, you don't know how to use it, and I have far more power at my disposal." Sam could almost hear the sad smile in his voice as Thomas continued, "I'll add your spirit to the same receptacle as your brother, you have my word on that. You'll be together again."

Sam's mind raced, searching desperately for options. Thomas was right, he couldn't use the cube's power well enough to free himself, and he couldn't reach any other weapon. Which meant his options were limited.

He thought again of what Bobby had said: _I don't know what the shock would do to Dean_. But whatever the consequences, it might be Sam's only chance to try to free his brother before he died.

_My arm, Dean_, he thought as loudly as he could. _I need my right arm free_.

It took a moment, but the tingling shifted away from his chest again, concentrating in his arm. The shock of the increased pressure against his chest almost made Sam pass out, but it had worked - he could move his arm.

_Please, god, let this work_, Sam thought, and threw the cube as hard as he could at the ground between him and Thomas.

The sound of the glass shattering was very loud in the oppressive atmosphere of the basement.

The pressure on his chest was suddenly gone, and Sam sagged against the wall, gasping for breath. He forced himself to focus as quickly as he could on the scene in front of him. Thomas had backed up next to the table with the books piled on it, and the ghosts from the receptacle were bearing down on him. Sam had to take a deep breath in relief at the sight of Dean just a few feet away.

He looked much the same as he had in the alleyway, still wearing his leather jacket, the one Sam had carefully removed from his cold corpse. He was paler than usual - _bloodloss_, Sam thought, half-hysterically - but otherwise seemed unharmed.

Then he _shifted_, moving round to get a better angle of attack at Thomas, and Sam caught his breath. Dean's face was distorted with rage, snarling with fury in a way Sam knew he would never have done in life. And as Sam stared, Dean's outstretched hands seemed to shift into claws like Mrs. Green's.

_Remember Jake_, Sam told himself, trying to force down panic. _Remember how furious you were with him when you realized what he'd done and the price Dean had paid. It's understandable._

The other ghosts seemed equally as furious, doing their best to attack Thomas, clustered around him. Thomas seemed to be managing to hold them off, however, with some kind of invisible barrier similar to the force he'd used to pin Sam; the spirits were clawing at it, throwing themselves against it, circling it and snarling as they tried to find a way through. But the receptacles on the shelves were all glowing blue, casting an eerie light over the basement, and Sam knew the ghosts wouldn't be able to break through. Thomas was throwing everything he could into that barrier.

Sam pulled himself away from the support of the wall. He might be able to do something about that.

He moved to the other end of the shelves, and reached out for the receptacle Thomas had touched earlier, the cube with the label _1_ in front of it, and picked it up. The glass was not merely cool to the touch, as the one containing Dean had been; it was bitingly cold, almost painful to handle.

"_No_!" Thomas yelled as Sam turned. He looked genuinely afraid for the first time, and extended a hand in Sam's direction. Sam was not surprised to see Dean snarl and swoop in, trying to break through the barrier.

Sam hurled the cube to the floor and watched it shatter.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected to emerge from the receptacle: perhaps mostly human-like ghosts similar to those which had come from Dean's cube. Instead, something resembling a cloud of black smoke appeared, spiraling up from the shattered glass, curling around itself in a dark, shapeless mass.

Then it lunged at him.

Sam gasped and leapt back against the wall, fumbling desperately in his pocket and cursing himself for not thinking to bring the shotgun. The only salt he had on him was the small packet he always carried in his pocket. He'd brought his handgun in case he had to take on Thomas (for all the good it had done him), but he'd been thinking mostly of Dean, of the ghosts as Thomas's victims.

Victims they might be, but that didn't mean they weren't deadly.

Suddenly Dean was there, appearing without warning between Sam and the black shade. He was snarling loudly, and Sam could see again the claws he'd noticed before, growing and flexing as Dean threatened the shade. He held his breath.

The shade hovered for a moment, hesitating, then sped towards Thomas.

Sam heard a screeching sound which he knew had to be Thomas's barrier shattering, and the snarling of the ghosts as they closed in. The blue glow of receptacles on the shelves flickered and went out, and Thomas screamed.

Sam ignored it all, his eyes focused on his brother. He reached out hesitantly to press a hand against Dean's back. "Dean?"

Dean _shifted_, suddenly facing him. His face was still distorted with the same wild rage as before.

Sam swallowed, and extended a hand carefully. "Dean. Hey."

Dean's expression shifted slightly, the rage fading, blending into a possessive protectiveness and hunger that was no less wild. And suddenly Dean was in his arms, pressed up against him, hands clutching Sam's arms, claws digging in painfully.

Sam gasped, but closed his arms around Dean, holding on as tightly as he could. "Dean," he said again. "Dean, come back to me, man."

Dean was freezing cold, colder than when he'd touched him before Thomas had trapped him. His face was pressed against Sam's neck, and Sam could feel teeth grazing against his skin, as if Dean was seeking the warmth of his blood.

"Dean," Sam tried again, reaching up to touch Dean's hair. "Hey. I've got you. You're going to be okay, Dean, I've got you, I promise."

His brother pulled back far enough to meet his gaze. Sam caught his breath at the wild need still in Dean's eyes. _Dean, god_...

And without warning, Dean lunged forward and pressed his mouth to Sam's.

It wasn't a kiss, not exactly. More than anything, the memory it brought back for Sam was his desperate attempt to resuscitate Dean in the alleyway, a final attempt to reach his brother and bring him back. Sam could no more have pulled away than he could have deliberately chosen to let Dean's life slip away. If this connection was what Dean needed to come back to himself and to Sam, Sam would give him it.

And if he was honest, maybe he needed it himself, too. Needed the feeling of Dean pressed so close against him, real like nothing else had seemed while he was gone. Needed to feel Dean's lips responding to his own like they hadn't in the alleyway. Needed to feel something but that horrible, blank rage from his brother.

He was slightly lightheaded when he finally pulled back, but Dean felt warmer than he had, and his eyes were shining with an intensity that reminded Sam of his brother much more than the wild rage of before.

A ghost snarled, close beside them.

Dean _shifted_ at once, rounding on it. Sam recognized the ghost of Mrs. Green, her dark eyes focused on him. Beyond her, the other spirits were starting to turn towards him too, the dark shade at the center.

Dean snarled, fingers lengthening into claws again. _Mine_, Sam sensed more than heard. He held his breath for a moment, but then the ghosts backed off, and spiraled out of the basement with a screeching wail.

Sam let his breath out slowly and looked across at where Thomas had been, then winced and looked hastily away. There was blood everywhere, splattered all over the books on the table. What was lying on the floor barely even resembled a corpse any more.

Dean turned again with the same ghostly abruptness, the rage slowly fading from his eyes, and was suddenly back in Sam's arms, nuzzling against his neck. Sam could feel the claws trailing over his arms, but slowly shortening and shifting back into normal fingers.

He let Dean cling to him, and took a deep breath. He could fix this. He could.

"Sammy," Dean murmured thickly, as if the word was a foreign language he was rediscovering. But it was the first word Sam had heard him speak since he'd been trapped.

Sam exhaled slowly, and wrapped his arms around his brother, feeling hope spark in him at that sound. "I got you, Dean. It's going to be okay."


	7. Chapter 7

They stood there for a long time, but Dean didn't regain much coherence. Nor did he seem inclined to let go of Sam. Sam eventually managed to walk them up the stairs out of the basement, but Dean continued to cling on to him, and he didn't really want him to let go anyway. Sam quickly gave up on any notion of driving anywhere, and instead settled down in the living room and held on to his brother.

It was okay. He didn't think they were likely to be bothered by the police or worried neighbors or friends: Thomas had seemed very much a solitary type. Sam figured it might be best to stay there for a while anyway. They probably ought to try to track down and deal with the ghosts that had escaped; until he figured out whether they were nearby or had returned to wherever Thomas had captured them, this was as good a base as any.

And it would give Sam a chance to study Thomas's books and see if he could figure out how the necromancer had tapped into the power stored in the cubes. If Thomas had been able to use it to extend his own life...

Dean hissed suddenly, startling Sam out of his thoughts. He looked up to find that Dean had at last raised his head from Sam's shoulder and was staring off to the left, his teeth bared. Sam glanced over and jumped. A young girl was crouching on the floor, watching them curiously. Her blonde hair was plastered to her head, water dripping off her onto the floor.

_Lara Sinclair_, Sam thought, remembering the logbook and the way she'd tried to bite through the barrier to get at Thomas.

She met his gaze and bared her teeth at him: they were long and needle-thin in a way no human's were.

Dean hissed again, threateningly, and Lara giggled and vanished.

Sam breathed out slowly. Jesus, this was fucked up. He thought longingly of his shotgun, still out in the Impala. The thought of trying to make it there and back with Dean in this state, though, was enough to make him shudder. There was no way they'd be able to do it without attracting unwanted attention.

He supposed Thomas probably had salt in the kitchen somewhere. Walking that far might be feasible. But if some of the ghosts were still in the house with them, salting the place would hardly help. And Sam didn't want to try putting a salt ring round them while Dean was in this condition: he simply didn't know how he would react, and his brother had been through enough already.

Dean settled back down, resting his head on Sam's shoulder again, seemingly content to stay like that for the foreseeable future. Sam rubbed his brother's arm soothingly, then pulled out his cell phone. Bobby was bound to be near-frantic by now.

The gruffness of Bobby's voice when he answered told Sam how right his guess was. "Sam? What happened, are you all right?"

Sam leaned back against the back of the sofa. "Yeah, I'm okay. I ran into Thomas." He hesitated. "He's dead, Bobby. I had to smash the cube Dean was in, there was no other choice, and the ghosts in it turned on him."

Bobby was silent for a moment. "How's Dean?"

Sam took a deep breath. Dean had given no indication that he was even aware Sam was having a conversation with someone, but he lowered his voice anyway. "He's a bit... the worse for wear." He didn't know what else to say. _My brother kissed me, and that was the moment when he seemed most like himself? He hasn't let go of me since, and I'm glad, even if it means he's messed up?_

"The worse for wear how?" Bobby asked sharply.

"He'll be okay," Sam said hastily. "He's just a bit... shaken up and disoriented. I'm sure he'll be fine by tomorrow. Just - being trapped in there with those other ghosts for so long, and probably the shock of the cube being broken, like you said. He's already a bit better than he was right afterwards, it's just... going to take a little while for him to come back."

"Okay," Bobby said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Are you boys going to head back up here now?"

"Not yet," Sam said. "We should probably track down the ghosts that got free first. And that'll give Dean a bit more time to recover, too."

"Maybe I should drive down there," Bobby suggested. "Help you out with the ghosts, free you up to concentrate on your brother."

Sam swallowed. Bobby was always a comforting figure, but Sam really didn't want him around just now, not while Dean was like this - he didn't know how Bobby would react. And he had a feeling he would frown on the research he was planning to do, too. "There's no need, Bobby - we're fine, really. If Dean's still... out of it tomorrow, I'll call you, okay?"

"If you're sure," Bobby said after a moment. "You boys are safe where you are, I take it?"

Sam glanced over to where the ghost girl had been. "Yeah. Yeah, we're safe here."

~*~

The day passed slowly, but Sam was too glad to have Dean back - in whatever condition - to chafe at the inaction. He did eventually make a trip to the kitchen, with Dean still hanging on to him, to find the salt, and when Dean didn't react too negatively at the mere sight of it, Sam took the risk of laying a salt circle round the sofa. They might as well spend the day resting up, since Dean didn't seem to be about to snap out of it any time soon. But Sam was going to need to sleep at some point, and since he'd seen first-hand exactly how dangerous the ghosts could be, he'd rather not take any chances.

And the knowledge that Dean wouldn't be able to drift off anywhere while he slept was also a guiltily comforting thought, even if Dean showed no inclination to do that yet.

Dean made a quiet whimpering sound when the circle was complete, but Sam was able to soothe him with a hand on his head and a few quiet words. They settled back on the sofa together, lying down this time, Dean tangled over and around him. Sam held on to his brother and reminded himself of how it had felt, lying alone in his empty bed the night before, wondering if he'd lost Dean completely this time.

He had Dean back. And he was going to bring him back all the way.

_No matter what it takes._

~*~

Waking up in the dark came as something of a shock, though not nearly as much as the sight of three ghosts staring at him, standing just outside the salt line. Sam inhaled sharply, eyes flicking automatically to Dean.

Dean was still tangled up with him, but he had raised his head and was staring fixedly at the ghosts outside the salt line. He wasn't hissing or snarling, though, Sam noted with some relief. He was just staring.

But something in his gaze must have gotten to them, because all three vanished suddenly.

Sam breathed out slowly, and reached out to his brother, touching his shoulder. "Dean. Hey."

He wasn't really expecting a response, but Dean slowly turned his head to meet his gaze, and Sam felt his own eyes widen. Dean looked... better. Not normal, not even close to it, but his face had lost the wildness of that morning, and there was a sanity and an awareness when he looked at Sam that hadn't been there before.

"Hey," Sam said again, trying to stop himself from getting his hopes up too far. "How are you feeling?"

Dean stared at him fixedly for a moment, then whispered, "Sammy."

Not exactly an answer to his question, but Sam would damn well take what he could get right now, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Yeah, Dean."

Dean blinked at him as he smiled, then seemed to come back to himself more. "You... okay?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh, though it sounded alarmingly close to a sob to his own ears. "Yeah, Dean. I'm okay. I'm good. How about you?"

"I'm... okay," Dean said. His voice was getting stronger, Sam noted; it didn't sound quite so rusty now. "Better now."

"Good," Sam said quietly, overwhelmingly grateful that Dean was coming back to him. "You had me worried this time."

Dean didn't say anything, just rested his head back on Sam's shoulder.

_Keep him talking_, Sam thought. Much as he was guiltily enjoying having Dean this close, he didn't want his brother slipping back into the unresponsiveness of that morning. "What was it like, inside the cube?"

Dean stiffened against him, then buried deeper into Sam's hold, shivering. "No..."

"Okay," Sam said hastily, rubbing at the back of Dean's neck in reassurance. "I'm sorry, Dean. You don't need to tell me about it if you're not ready."

It was a few minutes before Dean's shivering subsided. "Not much to tell," he said unexpectedly.

Sam kept quiet, waiting for his brother to say whatever he was ready to share.

"Trapped," Dean said finally. "Forced in with the others. Couldn't stay... apart."

Sam remembered the way Dean's hands had become claws when he'd turned aggressive that morning, remembered the similarity he'd noticed to Mrs. Green's claws, and thought he understood, at least a little.

"Glad to be out," Dean said. "Even if..."

He trailed off, and Sam couldn't help the jolt of alarm he felt at that statement. "Even if what? Dean?"

"Even if he was right," Dean said, muffled against his neck.

Sam made himself stay calm. "Thomas? What was he right about?"

Dean raised his head again, and Sam flinched at the expression in his eyes. "About me changing," Dean said.

"Oh no," Sam said, some of his calm evaporating. "Dean, no, you can't listen to what he said. He didn't -"

"I'm slipping, Sammy," Dean whispered. "I can feel it. I know you have too."

"But you're better again now," Sam protested. "You were bound to have a reaction to being imprisoned like that -"

"No, Sam," Dean said. "How are _you_ feeling now?"

Sam frowned. "What?"

"How are you feeling?" Dean repeated. "Really?"

Sam wished he knew where his brother was going with this. "I'm okay. A bit tired, but -"

"You fell asleep at noon," Dean said.

Sam stared at him. "So? It was a tiring morning."

"No," Dean said. "It was me, Sam."

Sam frowned. "What? No, it -"

"It was me," Dean repeated, his voice thin. "I didn't mean to, Sammy, I swear, I wouldn't, but -"

"Whoa, whoa," Sam said, his mind racing. "You're saying..."

"That I was slipping," Dean said quietly, meeting his eyes. "And that you're my anchor to... here. And I think I - drew on you, somehow."

The knowledge of the kiss hung between them. Sam remembered again how much it had reminded him of the alleyway, of trying desperately to bring his brother back. How much warmer Dean had seemed afterwards. The wave of light-headedness that had struck him.

"Okay," he said quietly.

Dean frowned at him. "What?"

"Okay," Sam repeated. "I'm not letting you go, Dean. If I can give you some of my... energy and that can help you, then good. I'm glad."

Dean shook his head. "No, I don't want to hurt you like that, I can't -"

"Dean," Sam said sharply, holding his gaze. He needed his brother to understand this. "That didn't hurt me. What would hurt me would be _losing you_. And I'm going to do whatever it takes to prevent that."

"It's dangerous," Dean said. "If I slip too far, if I take too much and can't stop myself..."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Sam said firmly. "My choice, Dean."

Dean stared at him for a moment, then closed his eyes and rested his head back against Sam's shoulder, unhappiness etched in his face. But he didn't argue the point, and Sam would settle for that for now.

~*~

"Nasty," Sam said, mostly because Dean normally would have said it, but hadn't.

"He got what he deserved," Dean said neutrally, sounding entirely unaffected by what was left of Thomas's corpse.

Sam swallowed at that, and concentrated on dragging the bloodstained body out of the trunk.

They'd taken advantage of it being the middle of the night - and the fact that Dean seemed a bit more normal - to get the Impala and take what was left of Thomas's body out of the town to salt and burn it. It was easier now that Dean was no longer clinging to Sam the way he had for most of the day, though he stayed very close and only broke physical contact when Sam was actually touching the corpse.

Sam tried to concentrate on Dean's behavior rather than the corpse itself, as he dragged it across to the center of the clearing, a safe distance away from the Impala, and fetched the lighter fluid and salt. It was odd setting the body alight himself. Dean had always done that part when he could, even when they were just kids. Sam wasn't sure that his brother _enjoyed_ it, precisely, but it was important to him. There was no way Dean could do it this time, though, so Sam struck the match himself, glanced at his brother for a moment, and then dropped it on the corpse.

Dean stared at the flames with an intensity that made Sam nervous. It was mostly in an attempt to distract his brother that he said, "I hope this means he'll be at rest."

Dean didn't look away from the flames. "Do you?"

Sam thought about the expression on Thomas's face as he'd talked about his mother's death. "Yeah, I think I do. He told me his story -"

"I heard it," Dean said.

Sam shot a quick glance at him, but Dean didn't offer anything more. "Yeah, so... I guess he'd see being a ghost as a fate worse than dea- well, as something pretty horrible."

Dean was silent. Then he said, "That didn't stop him from leaving anyone else to suffer it." He looked away from the fire to meet Sam's gaze for the first time; his expression was steady, but there was a hatred in his eyes that Sam had rarely seen Dean direct at a human being. "He could have laid them to rest. He could have given them peace. But all he did was imprison them - us. All he did was imprison us, force us together, take away what humanity we had left. Lara Sinclair was three when she died, and he was going to lock her away forever."

Sam swallowed and forced himself to meet his brother's gaze. Even though the sound of that 'us' made him uneasy.

Dean turned back to the fire. "At least we give them salt and fire. We make an end."

_We. Them._ Sam held on to that as they watched the fire burn.

~*~

It took Sam three trips to bring all Thomas's books and notes up out of the basement.

"You don't really need all of them to figure out how to deal with the ghosts," Dean objected, accompanying him back up the stairs for the third time. "Just the log book."

Sam thought fast. "I, uh, want to research how to remove spirits from the cubes properly. Instead of breaking them, you know? So we can start... laying the others to rest, too."

Sam felt like the lowest sort of scum when Dean's eyes lit up and he smiled slightly for the first time since Sam had freed him from the cube.

"That's my Sammy," Dean murmured, his voice low and proud.

Sam swallowed and tried to smile back.

"Go research, then," Dean said. "I should've known you'd start having withdrawal symptoms at some point today, anyway. I'm gonna go check on where the other ghosts are." He clapped Sam on the shoulder, maintaining the contact only slightly longer than normal, and walked off down the hallway.

_That's the first time he's voluntarily left my side since the cube_, Sam thought. It looked like maybe Dean was starting to get back to normal.

_Good_, Sam told himself firmly, and carried the books through to the kitchen, where he set them down with the rest.

His stomach rumbling reminded him of how long it had been since he'd eaten properly. Sam sighed and raided the fridge, making a peanut butter sandwich to keep him going while he read. There seemed something very wrong about eating the peanut butter of someone whose blood was spattered all over the books he was about to read, but this wasn't the time to be passing out from hunger.

He settled down and began searching Thomas's books for information on how to channel the power stored in the receptacles.

~*~

It was weird being this far away from Sam.

Dean frowned and rubbed at his arms, trying to shake the uneasy sensation of _wrongness_. He no longer felt like he had right after Sam had shattered that goddamn cube - like his brother was the only thing between him and... nothing. He couldn't have moved away from Sam then even if he'd wanted to. The feeling had slowly faded, blurring in his memory, but he still felt... weird. Now it was more like Sam was the center of the world, rather than the whole of the world, but even so it was fucking hard to walk away from him.

He tried to put it out of his mind and focus instead on where the hell all the other ghosts were. The house seemed suspiciously empty. Maybe they'd all left while he and Sam were off burning that bastard necromancer's body?

There was a quiet giggle over to his left. Dean stopped and looked sharply in that direction. "Lara?"

Another giggle, from his right this time, and then Lara shimmered into view, perched precariously on the back of the sofa. She grinned at him, her teeth only slightly pointed now, though she was still dripping wet.

Dean hesitated, then gave in and smiled at her. Wasn't like he had any room to judge anyone for being a ghost. "Hey, kiddo. You okay?"

"Hide an' seek," Lara announced brightly.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, you're good at that, I can tell."

"Not just me," Lara said. "Everyone!"

"The others playing too, are they?" Dean asked. "'Cause I was kind of looking for them."

Lara's eyes widened. "No, the dark one's looking. We hide!"

Dean paused. "The dark one?"

He knew exactly what she was referring to, of course. He'd been trapped in the cube with her and all of the others long enough to absorb some of their knowledge and attributes. Even though he felt more sane now, and she looked it too, he still had some idea how her mind worked. The 'dark one' was the shade, the one Sam had set free from the other cube.

"Found the others," Lara said quietly. "No good at hiding."

"What happened when it found them?" Dean asked, leaning down to put himself at a better eye level.

Lara bared suddenly long, needle-like teeth. "Ate them aaaall up!" She snapped them menacingly, then broke off into giggles again.

"Huh," Dean said. "But you're good at hiding, right?"

"Best," she said, beaming at him, her teeth suddenly back to normal.

"So, how about you hide from the dark one?" Dean suggested. "Hide the best you can, till Sam and I find a way to trick it."

Lara looked suddenly worried. "You got to hide too!"

Dean smiled at her reassuringly. "Don't worry. I gotta watch out for Sammy, but the dark one won't catch me. Promise."

She appeared somewhat reassured by that. "Okay. Time to hide 'gain now."

"Yeah, you hide," Dean agreed. "Don't you come out for anyone but me or Sam, okay? I don't want the dark one eating you up."

She giggled again and vanished. Dean felt cold water against his arm, then even that was gone.

He took a deep breath and headed back in the direction of the kitchen, where Sam was bent over Thomas's books. "Hey. I think we've got a problem."

It took a moment for Sam to look up. "What's up? You okay?" He turned over his page of notes.

Dean filled him in on what Lara had told him. Sam frowned, glancing down at his books.

"We need to find a way to trap it or take it out," Dean concluded.

Sam looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You believe what she told you? Just... the two of you didn't seem too... friendly, earlier."

It was Dean's turn to frown, then he had to try not to flush as a dim memory came back to him of hissing at Lara when she was staring at Sam too threateningly. "We were both still a bit... out of it. She's okay."

Sam smiled at him, reassurance that Dean couldn't help but focus on. "Okay, then. I, uh, think the shade's probably Thomas's parents, judging by what he said and what I've read in his notes so far. It seems like his father's ghost has sort of... assimilated his mother's spirit, and their combined spirit is doing the same to the other ghosts, if Lara's telling you the truth."

"Ate them all up," Dean muttered, and shook his head. "Okay. Have we got anything to salt and burn?"

Sam frowned. "I'm not certain, but what I've read in his journal implies he disposed of his mother's body pretty thoroughly - burned her out in the woods. He went and found his father's grave and dug up the bones to get rid of them, too. He wanted to be really sure he had them trapped."

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. "Great." He tried to think. There had to be something they were overlooking.

"I guess... one option would be to try to trap it back in a receptacle," Sam suggested hesitantly.

Dean felt himself stiffen and forced himself to see the logic in it, whatever he felt about those goddamn cubes. "I... if there's no other way. But it would be too dangerous, Sam. Especially with that shade."

"Thomas made a lot of notes on the things he did," Sam said. "I'm not saying it would be easy, but I think I could pull it off if I had to."

The thought of Sam performing the same ritual that had been used to trap him made Dean shudder. "I really don't think necromancy's for you, Sam. Can't we find something else?" He cast about desperately. "What about those bones down there? And the blood?"

Sam stared at him, then grabbed another book and began paging through it. "I don't know about the blood, but the bones... I know I saw a reference somewhere..." He paused, and stabbed a finger at the relevant passage. "One from his mother and one from his father, I think. As his first contacts with death, apparently - it's powerful stuff."

"Nice," Dean said. "Okay, so if we burn those, that might stop it, or at least weaken it. Let's do it."

Sam looked back at his books again, but closed them and stood up only a little reluctantly. "Where is it now?"

Dean paused. "I don't know. I didn't see it when I was looking about." He glanced around, suppressing a moment of paranoia that it would be hovering right behind him. "Okay, then how about we check it isn't in the basement, then salt the door and go back down to burn the bones."

Sam didn't look entirely convinced, but he grabbed the salt and lighter fluid from the counter. "Okay, let's give it a try, I guess."

The basement was empty. Dean tried to ignore the cubes and how much they creeped him out, and focused on the bones instead.

"Do we really need to salt the door?" Sam asked, unscrewing the cap on the lighter fluid.

"Yes," Dean said emphatically. "For all we know it'll feel it the moment you touch those bones and come running. And you saw what it did to Thomas."

"Yeah, okay, I guess you're right," Sam said. "I'll go do that."

"I'll come too," Dean said hastily. He wasn't about to stay in the basement alone with those cubes while Sam went up where the shade had to be, not a chance in hell. Fortunately, Sam didn't call him on his reasons, just led the way up the stairs.

Sam had laid a line of salt across half of the doorway when Dean heard the scream.

_Lara_. He darted out the clear half of the doorway.

"_Dean_!" Sam yelled, trying to grab him.

"Salt that door and burn the bones!" Dean ordered, and _shifted_ in the direction the scream had come from.

He found the shade in the kitchen.

It was far larger than it had been when Sam had freed it in the basement, and Dean was immediately convinced that their theory was correct - it was consuming the other ghosts, probably readying itself to go after Sam. There was no sign of Lara, and Dean hoped like hell she'd managed to hide in time. Though that scream didn't give him much hope.

The shade came at him, blackness pouring through the air.

Dean _shifted_ to the other side of the room, then into the living room when it reappeared in front of him. He knew that it was old and powerful, could feel the malevolence radiating off it. But he also knew that Sam was probably burning the bones right at that moment. All he had to do was hold it off long enough for that to work.

_If_ it worked.

He had to _shift_ again as it lunged at him, and was readying himself to move again when the shade suddenly stilled, a tremor running through it. Then it threw itself at the door to the basement.

_Oh yeah, it's gonna work, all right_.

Dean didn't think there was much it could do to Sam beyond the salt line, but he couldn't be sure. So all he could do was try to divert its attention.

"Hey! ...Poltergeist!" Okay, it wasn't the best insult he'd ever come up with, but so long as Sam didn't hear him, what the hell. "No, wait, you're not even a poltergeist, are you? Just black... gloop. With an eating habit that's seriously out of control."

Picking up a magazine from the table near the couch was far more difficult than he'd have liked. Well, he'd never claimed to be a good poltergeist himself. He was quite proud of the direct hit he scored when he threw it, though.

The shade turned and came at him again.

"Dean!"

Dean _shifted_ to the far side of the living room, and found himself with a good view of Sam, who was standing in the basement doorway.

"Dean, c'mon!" Sam yelled. "I'll open a gap in the -"

"Touch that salt and I'll kick your ass!" Dean yelled back. He knew how fast the shade was now, and he had no doubt it was capable of killing Sam and extinguishing the fire before it faded.

At that moment, it came out of the wall behind him and knocked him to the floor.

Dean gasped and rolled, instinctively bringing his hands up to defend himself, vaguely aware that his fingers were lengthening and hooking into claws as he did so. He snarled and lashed out.

Sam was yelling in the background. Dean had enough time to hope his brother had the sense to stay behind the salt line, or he really was going to kick his ass, and then the shade was on him, smothering him, ripping at him. He fought back as best he could, claws and teeth, wild and desperate.

And then it all stopped.

Dean stared up, his teeth still bared, as the shade shuddered again. An invisible shockwave seemed to pass through it, then there was a flare of orange, and its blackness crumbled away like dust. All that was left was grey mist, dissipating like smoke.

_The ghosts it ate_, Dean thought, and collapsed back onto the floor.

The last plume of grey smoke coalesced instead of fading, however, and after a moment Lara was sitting beside him. She crawled towards him, needle-sharp teeth bared.

Dean let her come. He wasn't about to put up a fight, not against her. Besides, he had bigger worries. The world was starting to turn hazy and unreal around him.

_Sam. Where's Sam?_

Lara lowered her head and Dean, half-braced for her to take a bite out of him, instead felt her cold, wet lips press against his cheek.

"Kiss you better," she announced, sitting back again.

Dean wished he could muster a smile for her, but he was losing sight of the reality of her, of everything around him. _Slipping_.

"Dean!"

_Sam_.

The shocking reality of Sam's hands closing around his wrists and then sweeping across his chest was like catching sight of daylight from the bottom of a cold, dark lake, but Dean still wasn't sure he could reach the surface.

Then Sam's lips were on his, like air rushing into his lungs, and Dean gasped as the world started to flood back in around him, confused and distorted but _real_. He held on, clinging to Sam, waiting for things to make sense again.

~*~

Sam knew it was ridiculous to panic at the sight of his brother lying on the floor like that - it wasn't like Dean could die twice - but he couldn't stop himself. There might not be any blood this time, but that didn't mean he wasn't losing Dean just the same; the glassy, unseeing look in his eyes told its own story.

He grabbed Dean's wrists as he dropped to the ground beside him. "Dean? Dean!"

His brother half-opened his mouth, as if fighting to speak, or for air, and Sam couldn't take it any more, couldn't stand watching this happen to Dean again.

He brought their lips together, half mouth-to-mouth, half kiss, fury in his movements until he felt Dean respond, felt Dean's arms come up and cling to him desperately. The knowledge that his brother was still there, still holding on, was enough to gentle the kiss, reassurance passing back and forth between them.

Sam forced himself to pull back, breathing hard. Dean held on to him, and Sam ran his hands reassuringly across his face, over his neck.

_Enough_. _Enough of this._

"Better now," the ghost girl chirped beside him.

Sam opened his mouth to snap at her, then thought the better of it and tried a smile instead. "Lara, right? Lara, could you do me a favor? For Dean. You like Dean, right? You want to help him? Because I need one of the cubes from down in the basement. Do you think you could get one for me? For Dean? Please?"

Lara eyed him for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust him, then beamed. "Help Dean."

She vanished before Sam could give her any further instructions, and he could only hope she'd understood what he was asking.

He'd have preferred a bit more time to do research before carrying out this ritual - Thomas had been right that necromancy really wasn't something to dabble in - but he couldn't watch Dean go through this any longer. The ritual was simple enough: difficult, sure, but based on simple principles. And after the work he'd done with Ruby over the past year, Sam was fairly confident his will would be strong enough to help force the ritual to work.

And then Dean would be back, properly back.

Sam glanced around. He was going to need a knife, and his notes.

He started to pull away from his brother, but Dean gasped and tightened his hold. "Don't..."

Sam pressed a hand to Dean's cheek. His brother's eyes were aware, but disoriented, and Sam bit his lip. "I'm not going far, Dean, and I'll be right back - I need to fetch something so I can help you."

"You help," Dean murmured, turning his face into Sam's hand. "Don't..."

Lara suddenly rematerialized beside them, and to Sam's relief, she was holding one of the cubes, even if she was hissing at it, her teeth extended.

"Thank you, Lara," Sam said, reaching out hastily to take it from her.

Dean's gaze fastened on it, and he recoiled, trying to shift away. "Sam, no - what - don't -"

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said as soothingly as he could. "I think I know how to bring you back now, but I need the cube to do it, okay? You're going to be fine, just hang on -"

Dean's hand caught painfully tight around his wrist. "Sam, _no_ \- you can't use them, you can't become like him -"

Sam swallowed. "I know you hate the idea, and I'm sorry, Dean, but it's worth it. You're worth it."

"_No_," Dean insisted again. "Not worth it just for a month - not worth you becoming that, Sam, _please_ -"

Sam felt suddenly cold. "What do you mean, 'just for a month'? Dean? It's - no. _No_. She gave you a year to live, damnit! And you died - the bargain was broken - she gave you a year to live, Dean!"

"Gave me a year," Dean said. He still sounded out of it, clinging to Sam's wrists. "Life never came into it."

Sam came very close to hurling the cube across the room. Instead he set it down carefully on the floor. If Dean was telling the truth - and Sam didn't doubt it, and not just because his brother was far too disoriented to lie at the moment - then necromancy couldn't help him. _Nothing_ could help him, because the crossroads demon had her fingers wrapped round his soul, and even if Sam found a way to cheat death, he'd still have to find a way to cheat her.

He'd already lost his brother once, and in just over a month he was going to lose him again, a loss even more final than death.

Sam lowered his head and tasted salt in his mouth, washing the taste of Dean away.

~*~

_Salt. Sam._

Dean licked his lips, soaking up the taste, caught up entirely in the _realness _of it. It was almost impossible to think around, and he couldn't get enough of it. He reached up and dragged Sam in closer, holding his head steady so he could lap at the liquid. It felt like forever since he'd tasted salt without it burning him. And even longer since he'd tasted Sam so clearly, felt him slipping inside and slowly making Dean real from the inside out. He was dimly aware something wasn't quite as it should be, but it was impossible to figure out what when his world was narrowed down to the taste of Sam against his parched lips.

Sam made a strange sound, one that tugged at something inside Dean, even if he couldn't quite figure out why it hurt him, but then their lips met again, and Dean could do nothing but hold on and let Sam wash over and through him.

He drifted in the sensation for what he suspected was a long time. But time was confusing him, moving in jerks. One moment Sam was bent over him, face pressed close and repeating his name, and the next Sam's hand was pressed against his chest and he was talking to someone Dean couldn't see, or maybe to himself. Nothing really sank in beyond a wave of impressions that swept over him and receded just as quickly.

"...and Bobby hadn't found anything," he was distantly aware of Sam saying at one point. "No way to break -"

Sam's voice was familiar, soothing despite the twisted, painful emotions in it. Dean listened more to the rise and fall of his brother's intonation than to the words that made no sense at the moment anyway.

At another point, Sam stopped touching him, his hands drawing back, and Dean jolted to shocked awareness of the fury in his brother's voice. "...bastard, I can't believe you didn't tell me -"

Dean couldn't help his moan of pain or the way he arched up off the ground, _needing_. But then Sam's hands were back, in his hair, on his chest, and he subsided, letting the world settle back into place around him, Sam's voice soothing again.

When the world eventually began to make sense again, Dean blinked and found his brother looking at him.

Sam was simply looking, as if he'd been watching for a long time and was quite prepared to sit there silently and watch him for a lot longer yet. Dean met his gaze without flinching. It was made easier by the fact that everything still felt somewhat strange and unreal, if not quite as non-existent as before.

Eventually, Sam said, "You back with me?"

Dean didn't look away. "Never left."

Sam glanced down, and Dean noticed for the first time how red his brother's eyes were. Before he could muster the strength to speak again, though, Sam looked back up, and his face was set.

"You think you can stand now, if I help you?" he asked. "I don't want to lose any more time."


	8. Chapter 8

"Look, just tell me what the hell we're doing out here in the middle of nowhere," Dean said.

Sam stared around the clearing, only half listening. It looked exactly the way it had when he'd left just over a week ago; there was no sign that anyone had been there.

Which meant he was rapidly running out of places to look for Ruby. He'd spent two days searching for her in Cicero, the last place he'd seen her, and turned up nothing - so he'd been hoping to find her here, where she'd taken him to practice right before Dean took off for Cicero. It didn't look like she'd been back here either, though.

They were only about half an hour away from Bobby's house, and he debated again whether to check back out of the motel he'd found in the nearest town and go there instead. But he knew that Bobby wouldn't be able to help, not with this. They'd spent months researching together, gone through every book Bobby owned, checked with every contact he had. Bobby wasn't one to give up easily, particularly not on Dean, but he'd all but admitted to Sam months ago that there was nothing else he could do. Bobby wouldn't be able to help them, and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to go there with Dean, not while his brother was still unstable.

He looked helplessly around the clearing again. He guessed it was his own fault. Ruby could be helpful when she wanted to be, but she was temperamental, too. She hadn't argued nearly enough back in Cicero when Sam told her to go away and leave him alone to mourn his brother. Sam didn't feel bad about that - he'd slowly started to trust Ruby to some degree, over the months, but she wasn't exactly someone whose feelings he worried about hurting - but he did suspect she'd taken offence and was refusing to get in touch with him. It had been over a week, the longest she'd gone without contacting him in months.

_Knowing her, she's probably been watching me this whole time and just won't let me see her._

Dean sighed. "Sam, I know you're pissed at me, okay? I get that. But - I don't know what else you want me to say. I should have told you, I was just worried you'd do something stupid."

Sam looked around again. He wasn't really giving Dean the silent treatment; he wasn't pissed - well, okay, he was pissed, in fact he was fucking furious, but that wasn't productive and he'd no time for anything unproductive. He wasn't about to waste what time he had with Dean by refusing to speak to him. But he'd spent so many months keeping to himself everything about his efforts to break Dean's deal and everything Ruby told him and showed him; it was a hard habit to break.

Plus he was pretty sure Dean wasn't going to react well, and Sam had decided to put off that argument for as long as possible.

Which could well be indefinitely, at this rate. Where the hell was she?

Sam glanced at his watch, a nervous habit he'd developed since Dean had told him the truth three days ago. God, this was fucking ridiculous. How long was she going to make him search for her? He didn't have time for this. _Dean_ didn't have time.

"_Ruby_!" he yelled.

He heard Dean's "_What_?", but his attention was taken up by the voice behind him that said, "Well, well. Look who's finally come calling."

Sam turned around to meet her gaze. Ruby wore a mocking smile, but her eyes were cold and hard.

"Sam, _no_," Dean said, off to his side. "Jesus, Sam, I don't want you to -"

"Where have you been?" Sam asked her, ignoring Dean.

Ruby tilted her head. "Why, Sam, I didn't know you cared." Her smile faded. "You're the one who told me to go away and leave you alone. Now you've got the nerve to complain that I did what you said?" Her smile returned, crueler. "I didn't want to disturb you during your... time of grief."

"...Such a fucking bitch," Dean muttered, keeping his distance.

"You knew, didn't you?" Sam said. "You knew Dean's deal was still running."

"It's not like you gave me a chance to tell you," Ruby said. "_Shut up and go away and leave me alone_ were your words, I believe. I did offer to help you, Sam, but you weren't interested." She turned away, as if about to walk out of the clearing. "So good luck."

"Don't, Sam," Dean said. "Don't you dare fall for that trick -"

"Ruby, I need your help," Sam said. "Will you help me?"

He ignored Dean's groan and kept his eyes on her. She turned around slowly, her mocking smile now replaced by a serious expression.

"On one condition," Ruby said.

"Here it comes," Dean muttered.

"You've got to leave behind all those pretty scruples and issues that were holding you back before," Ruby said. "There's no time left for messing around. You do what I tell you, and you work like hell. Pardon the expression." She smiled in a way which showed there had been nothing accidental about it. "That's my condition, Sam. You need to be willing to do what it takes this time. Whatever the price."

"Sam, _no_," Dean repeated. "Dude, I trusted _Meg_ more than I trust this bitch - at least we knew where we stood with her. Whatever it is she wants you to do, it's not worth it. _Please_, Sam."

Sam kept his eyes on Ruby. He thought about the ritual he'd been ready to perform, back in the necromancer's house; thought about lying awake in an empty bed, and the feeling of his lips on Dean's. He'd already set aside his scruples and ethics. She wasn't asking anything new of him: he'd already crossed all his lines and been happy to pay the price.

"Done," he said.

~*~

The first time Dean saw a demon bow to his brother, he'd been dead for ten days.

He'd yelled himself hoarse while Ruby and Sam set up a circle to summon demons to, but Ruby couldn't hear him and Sam was a stubborn bastard who wouldn't let himself be distracted, not even when Dean sang fifty verses about bottles of beer on the wall. Not even when Dean lost it and tried shoving him - finally desperate enough to risk touching him, something he'd been avoiding now he knew what his touch could do to Sam, the way he could drain him. Once they'd finished marking out the circle with rocks, though, Dean gave up on his attempts to interfere, because no matter how much he wanted to stop Sam, he wasn't about to risk distracting him when he was in danger.

"Ready?" Ruby said, not really a question. She turned towards the circle without bothering to wait for a response.

"Sam," Dean tried again. "C'mon, Sammy, please, don't do this -"

He cut off as something took shape inside the circle. Something that almost looked like the ghost of a little girl, until you saw the eyes. It wasn't a ghost - _not Lara_ \- but the resemblance was enough to make Dean shudder. He spared a moment to at least be grateful that it wasn't possessing anyone: this was its own form, and there was no little girl trapped in there somewhere.

"_Stay_," Sam commanded as the demon lunged for the edge of the circle, and it seemed to rebound off an invisible barrier at the edge of the circle, turning to glare at Sam instead. And then - bending slowly, obviously against its will - it bowed to Sam.

Ruby didn't even tell him to make the demon do it, and maybe that was worst part of all: that this was so clearly routine for Sam now.

"Oh fuck, Sam," Dean muttered, feeling sick. "What the hell has happened to you?"

Sam's lips tightened, but that was the only sign that he was even aware of his presence.

"So, let's see just how much you've forgotten," Ruby said, walking away from the circle to stand behind Sam.

Dean kept his mouth shut for the rest of their 'practice session', standing on the edge of the clearing and watching silently. Mostly it was small stuff, Sam commanding the demon to fetch things, to say things, to move things. That was no comfort. Ruby kept up a stream of needling comments, criticizing moments of hesitation that Dean couldn't see, telling Sam that he wasn't trying.

She was going to pay, Dean told himself. Somehow, he was going to find a way to make her pay for doing this to Sam.

He felt... exhausted. And sick. And angry. He found himself grinding his teeth as Ruby taunted his brother again. She had no _right_. She...

"Come _on_, Sam!" Ruby snapped. "I thought you wanted to save that brother of yours? You don't have time for these scruples!"

Dean hissed at her, at the threat in her tone; he could feel his hands shifting, hooking into claws.

That made Sam look in his direction, for the first time in hours. He was frowning, but something flared in his eyes before he turned back to Ruby. "The sun'll be up soon."

Ruby looked at him for a long moment, and Dean hissed again. He didn't like her standing so close to Sam, didn't like her _looking_ at him like that. He should...

"Fine," Ruby said, before Dean figured out exactly what it was he wanted to do. "Then finish it."

Sam didn't move for a moment, and Ruby tilted her head. "I knew you'd lost your edge. You're holding back on killing demons now, Sam? You're going to just let this one go? Let it tell others that you're _weak_? That they can afford to go up against you?"

The demon in the circle snarled. Without looking over, Sam said, "Shut up," and it fell silent.

Dean found himself hissing again, quiet and constant. He didn't like the look on his brother's face, not even when Sam glanced across at him.

"Well?" Ruby asked, voice sharp with impatience. "I don't have -"

She was cut off as Sam pulled out the Colt, turned and fired in one smooth move at the demon in the circle.

"Slow," Ruby said, as the demon's form dissolved into dark smoke, sparks glowing for a moment until the air cleared entirely. "You can't afford hesitation like that, Sam. Tomorrow you'd better be faster."

Sam didn't say anything, just tucked the Colt away again and moved towards Dean. It wasn't until he saw the uncertainty in Sam's eyes that Dean realized he was still hissing, teeth bared as he snarled at Ruby. The subtle touch of his brother's hand on his arm brought him back to himself a little, and he focused on Sam again.

"See you tonight, Ruby," was all Sam said, then he dropped his hand and walked out of the clearing.

Thinking straight was difficult, but Dean didn't need to think: just snarled at Ruby one last time and then _shifted_ to his brother's side, drifting along with him in the direction of the car.

"Hey," Sam murmured under his breath, once they were a good distance from the clearing. His hand was reassuringly solid, wrapped around Dean's wrist, and Dean felt the world shift more into focus. "You - okay?"

"Don't like her," Dean said, but it was already fading - the reason why he was angry with her, if not the anger itself. The clearing already seemed like something unreal.

The shadows on Sam's face, though, touching his jaw and his cheek and his eyes... they were real.

"Hey," Sam said again, and Dean blinked at the realization that they were back at the car, though he'd no memory of reaching it. "C'mon, let's - let's get back to the motel, okay? You'll feel better once we're back there."

Dean didn't argue, just _shifted_ inside the car, staring abstractedly as Sam opened the door and crammed himself inside in the more conventional manner. He couldn't take his eyes off his brother now; the rest of his surroundings seemed faded and grey, even though the dawn light was now starting to bring color back into the world.

_Shouldn't_... he thought dimly. _Dangerous_... But he was already pressing up against Sam's side, irresistibly drawn to the warmth and the tingle of electricity that fed through him when they touched.

"Dean. Hey, Dean. _Dean_." Sam's voice finally penetrated the haze that had come over him, and Dean blinked and focused on his brother's face. Sam looked... exhausted. Worried. Dean reached out, wanting to comfort him, only to lose his train of thought entirely when his fingers brushed Sam's face and sensation shot through him.

"C'mon," Sam said. "Dean, we're here, let's - let's just go inside, and then... it's going to be okay, I promise. C'mon, our room's right over there -"

Dean couldn't really follow any of what Sam was saying, but he could still follow Sam, _shifting_ to stay close even as his brother was moving, until finally, _finally_, Sam stopped moving away, turning to him instead.

"Dean," Sam said. His voice sounded... wrong, Dean was dimly aware. "Oh god, Dean. I've got you, come here -"

And then Sam was touching him, his mouth sending jolts of energy through him, and Dean suddenly remembered enough to realize why he shouldn't be touching Sam, realize what his brother was doing for him, the sacrifice he was making. Then Sam's lips pressed against his, and the moment of clarity was swept away in the flood of energy rushing through him.

~*~

It was late afternoon when Dean left Sam still sleeping in bed and paced across the room to peer through the crack in the drapes at the cars driving past outside.

They'd fallen into a routine of sorts, over the week since Sam had brought them there. Each night they went back out to the clearing and Sam 'worked' with Ruby until dawn. Dean hated it, hated her, hated what she was doing to his brother. Part of him wanted to be angry with Sam for what he was doing. But when Sam had died, Dean had driven to the nearest crossroads and made a deal with a demon. How could he blame Sam for turning to Ruby? At least his brother wasn't selling his soul, though sometimes the look on Sam's face made Dean worry that he was making a far worse sacrifice.

Dean hated the nights.

The mornings weren't much better. After a long night of watching Sam order demons around, Dean found himself... _slipping_. Before his run-in with the shade, that had only happened when he had exhausted himself, but now it was happening every day. Dean still wasn't sure whether the shade had caused it, or whether it was just the gradual onset of madness the crossroads demon and Thomas had both insisted was inevitable. It started out with him feeling exhausted, and the world turning hazy and unreal around him, the way it used to after he'd lost a lot of blood, back when he was alive. He never remembered much of what happened after that: it was like a fever dream. Sam had been tight-lipped when Dean had asked him, but he'd got the impression he acted... like a ghost. A dangerous ghost.

The kind of ghost they normally hunted.

By the time he came back to himself enough to be aware of his surroundings, he was always back in the motel room with Sam. Clinging to Sam, really. Even once he was aware again, it always took a while before he was strong and stable enough to let go or move away. Sam never laughed at him, just kept touching him, and Dean felt strength flooding in with every touch.

He wasn't so far gone that he hadn't figured out what that meant. He knew Sam's own exhaustion wasn't due only to what he was doing with Ruby. Dean knew he was feeding off his brother's strength; he just didn't know what to do about it. By the time it happened he was always too far out of it to realize what was going on, and Sam didn't seem inclined to put a stop to it.

Dean was trying to avoid touching his brother now, trying to stay away for as long as he could, but it didn't seem to be helping. If anything, it just meant he started slipping quicker. Last night he hadn't even been able to hold out until dawn. He could dimly recall staggering across the clearing to lean against Sam, unable to handle being even a few feet away from any more. After that, everything was hazy.

The kissing was another thing. The energy that shot through him whenever they kissed was even more intense than when Sam touched him. Dean was almost certain that it hadn't started out as _kissing_, exactly, that it had been... well, something else. But each time he'd come round in their bed that week, Sam had been kissing him, and hadn't stopped until Dean had finally found the strength to pull away.

It was getting harder to find that strength, and Dean wasn't sure what that meant.

Once Dean came round enough to move away from Sam and over to his own side of the bed, Sam always fell asleep. Dean suspected his brother forced himself to stay awake until he was a bit closer to sanity again, though he didn't know whether that was just Sam's concern for him or his concern about what Dean might do. In the evening, Sam generally woke up just in time to eat something before they headed back out to the clearing.

They didn't really talk any more. There wasn't anything to be said. Sam was dead-set on his strategy of trusting in Ruby and hoping a plan would materialize; Dean had given up on trying to talk him out of it.

Dean turned away from the window with a sigh and stared at Sam, who was lying sprawled across his half of the bed.

He hated this. He deeply and truly hated this, more than he'd hated just about any situation before. He hated what Sam was going through for him. He hated that he was losing control of himself. He hated that he had only just over three weeks left with his brother, and they were going to spend them like this, with Sam being dazzled by demons and never talking to each other and only touching when he was too crazy to stop himself.

Sam shifted in his sleep with a faint moan, and Dean caught himself hissing, feeling his teeth lengthen instinctively at the idea of a threat to Sam. He forced himself to close his eyes and breathe deeply until he felt more stable again, and then he crossed slowly back to the bed, lying down next to Sam. He stared at his brother's back, and tried to think what to do.

Killing himself wasn't an option, for the obvious reason that dying hadn't really solved any problems for him so far. In theory, he could try to torch his corpse, but Sam showed no inclination to go to Bobby's, and Dean couldn't go very far from his side. Besides, he'd promised Sam he wouldn't do that. It was a promise he'd be willing to break if he thought it was necessary, but it didn't look like he was going to get a chance.

He couldn't talk Sam out of this insanity, and he couldn't see any way to force him to stop either. The only hope was that Sam might come to his senses of his own accord, as far as Dean could see. Or that failing would somehow not result in Sam's death.

All Dean knew was that they couldn't carry on like this. If he only had three weeks left, this wasn't how he was going out. He might not be able to convince Sam to stop working with Ruby and drive down to the Grand Canyon with him, but that didn't mean he had to spend all of his time with Sam, clinging to Sam, without ever really making contact.

If he could only have three weeks with his brother, then he was going to goddamn _have_ those three weeks with Sam. And he was going to damn well have every piece of Sam he could, not this silent, distant shadow of his brother.

Dean reached out and touched a finger lightly to Sam's bare back. He held it there for a moment, worried that he'd feel the faint tingling that meant he was drawing on his brother again, but there was nothing, just the warmth of Sam's skin against his.

When had he last touched Sam while he was sane enough to know what he was doing?

Sam shifted uneasily in his sleep, his brow wrinkling. Dean swallowed.

_Fuck this. I'm going to touch him. I'm going to talk to him. I'm going to damn well make sure we have something good in these last few weeks. I'm not letting any demon take everything away from us_.

He ran his finger gently up Sam's spine, then traced over his forehead, smoothing gently over the lines there. It was... strange, both new and not: he had vague memories of touching his brother like this, but they hovered just out of reach, refusing to come into focus.

Sam's eyes opened suddenly, narrowing in instantly on his, and Dean saw his brother draw the logical assumption from his touch.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Sam asked, worry shading his voice. He reached out and wrapped his hand around Dean's wrist.

Dean held his breath, but there was still no tingle of energy being transferred between them. He guessed that meant he was as sane as he was ever going to get. It was oddly reassuring to know.

Sam's eyes snapped back to his, the realization evidently dawning on him too that Dean couldn't be touching him for energy, not this time. Dean met his gaze steadily.

"Dean?" Sam murmured again. He sounded confused, but he hadn't released Dean's wrist.

He was losing Sam. He was losing himself. But right now he was sane, and Sam was _right there_. Whatever he said now, Sam would listen. He could tell Sam that he didn't want to go to hell. He could tell Sam that he was scared shitless of what Sam might do trying to prevent it. He could tell Sam that he didn't regret what he'd done.

Instead, Dean leaned over and kissed him.

Sam's lips were warm against his, responding automatically, allowing Dean to take what he needed. Dean drew back and met Sam's eyes, because that wasn't what this was about, not this time.

Sam's eyes were wide, and Dean knew he'd felt the difference. He hadn't drained Sam's energy; this kiss had been about offering, not taking. He was sane right now, and though he hadn't known he was going to kiss Sam before he'd done it, he still knew exactly what he was doing.

"I'm not letting you go."

For a moment Dean wasn't sure which of them had said it, but the way Sam blinked and the look in his brother's eyes made him realize it had been him.

"I'm not," he repeated, stumbling over the words. "It's just - I need you, okay, and not just because... _Sammy_. Don't think that all this shit that's happened is why, okay? There's a reason why I fucking cling to you when I don't know up from down. You were the only thing I was sure of long before all of this happened, okay? So don't think that's why. I didn't know I could want this before, but I do. And maybe I only actually went ahead and did it because I was crazy, but that's not the reason I _wanted_ to." He swallowed. "And I'm not crazy now."

Sane or not, he wasn't sure he was making much sense, but something must have gotten through to his brother, because Sam pressed him back against the bed and kissed him.

It wasn't like the gentle semi-kisses they'd shared when Dean was finding his way back from slipping, all about the connection and _I've got you_. It was fierce and raw and despairing, _I'm losing you and I can't take it and I won't let you go_. Dean kissed him back, putting as much of himself into it as he could, trying to show Sam everything he couldn't find the words for.

"Dean," Sam muttered between kisses. "Dean, I - I can't lose you, I can't, you're - you're _everything_, you don't even know -"

"I'm right here," Dean murmured back, the best he could do without making a promise he couldn't keep.

He knew Sam had heard what he hadn't said as clearly as what he had, because Sam's hands closed around his wrists almost tight enough to hurt, holding on desperately.

Dean kissed him again, not trying to distract him, simply to remind him. _I'm here now. Don't waste it_.

Sam gasped against his lips, and Dean felt the shudder that ran through his brother's body as the message sank in. Then Sam released his wrists and closed his hands around his face instead, tilting Dean's head to deepen the kiss, less despairing but no less fierce.

Dean gave himself over to it, one hand tangling in Sam's hair, the other pressing against his back, tugging Sam down to lie fully on top of him. It was overwhelming. Now that Dean could touch so little, even slight contact had taken on huge meaning; with Sam, the only real thing in his world, the sensation was enough to make it hard to breathe. Sam might not be transferring energy to him, but every inch of physical contact was making him real, nonetheless.

Sam kissed his way along the curve of his jaw, and Dean couldn't help the ridiculous noise he made. Sam laughed, hot and low against his skin, and Dean thought that was the best sound he'd heard from Sam since his death.

"We're doing this," Sam said. It wasn't really a question.

"Fuck yeah," Dean said, and flipped them, pinning Sam beneath him.

Sam flushed, though not from embarrassment: Dean could see heat spark in his eyes, and he had to kiss Sam again before he found himself saying something unforgivably mushy. Sam wrapped his arms around him, pulling their bodies flush together, and Dean moaned into his mouth at the warmth of Sam's bare chest against him.

He broke away and began kissing his way down Sam's throat, running his hands across his brother's chest, feeling his heartbeat accelerate beneath his hand.

"Your clothes," Sam said, tugging at the sleeve of the ghostly leather jacket Dean was still wearing.

"Don't think I can take them off," Dean murmured against his skin. He laughed under his breath, able to appreciate the ridiculousness of the situation. "Hell, Sam, I don't even know if I can fucking... _do_ this without a body."

Sam's hands touched his face, forcing him to lift his head and meet his gaze. His brother was looking very serious now. "We don't have to. You know that, right?"

"I want to," Dean said. "You're just gonna need to be a bit creative, that's all."

A slow, hot grin spread across Sam's face. "Creative, huh? I can do that." And before Dean had a chance to process it, Sam's hands were sliding beneath his shirt, stroking along his stomach and trailing slowly up his back.

"_Fuck_," Dean cursed, and had to bury his head against Sam's neck, sucking at his pulse-point and trying to hold it together. Not to be outdone, he ran a hand down Sam's side, tracing his hip bone before stroking across his thigh. It was Sam's turn to curse, then, but Dean's grin of satisfaction was lost when Sam bucked up and Dean felt his brother's erection grinding against him.

Holy fuck, they really were doing this.

Sam slid one hand lower, working it inside Dean's jeans, and Dean gasped, shuddering helplessly beneath Sam's touch.

"Hell yes," Sam murmured. "Fuck, Dean, you look -"

"_Jesus_," Dean said, and slid a hand between them, not bothering to take Sam's shorts off, just slipping his hand inside them and curling it around Sam's erection, squeezing gently.

Sam threw his head back, moaning, and Dean _felt_ the blast of desire sweeping through his brother. Over the past few weeks he'd gotten good at not picking up on Sam's emotions too clearly, even when they were touching, but whatever barriers he'd put in place to block them had come crashing down, or maybe he was just so focused on his brother that he couldn't help but be overwhelmed with how Sam was feeling.

Currently, though, he had no complaints whatsoever about picking up on it, because _holy shit_ it felt good.

"Dean," Sam gasped. "Jesus, Dean, _please_ -"

"I got you," Dean said, and began jacking him, slow and steady.

The angle was unfamiliar and awkward, but the way Sam moaned and writhed against him was quite possibly the best thing _ever_. Dean muffled a groan of his own against Sam's shoulder as his brother wrapped a hand around his cock in turn. It was almost too much, feeling the hot pleasure pounding through Sam as well as his own.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered. "Sam, _Sammy_ -" He bit down against Sam's throat, sucking hard.

"_Dean_," Sam groaned, and Dean felt his brother's orgasm hit, carrying them both over the edge and into dazed pleasure.

It was several minutes before Dean could even move. "Holy fuck," he murmured indistinctly against Sam's throat.

Sam laughed weakly. "Yeah. Did you, um..."

Dean wasn't sure whether he'd actually come - he still had his doubts about that being possible without a real body - but picking up on Sam's orgasm had felt as close to the real thing as to make no difference. "Yeah," he said, keeping things simple.

"Okay," Sam said. He still sounded slightly dazed.

Dean forced himself to move into a more comfortable position for them both, lying next to Sam with their legs tangled together and his hand above Sam's heart, listening to his heartbeat gradually slowing. Sam turned his head to look at him, smiling softly.

Dean just watched him. Nothing had changed, he knew that. In another hour they'd still go out to the clearing, and Ruby would drag Sam even further down a path he never should have been on in the first place. A few hours after that, Dean would start slipping again, losing himself until Sam brought him back. His time would still be up in three weeks. Nothing had changed.

Except that Sam was _with_ him now, in a way he hadn't been before. And that was the only thing Dean had ever really wanted.

"You okay?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean smiled, because for the first time in a long time, he was. "Yeah. You should get some more sleep, Sammy."

Sam looked at him for a moment and then leaned in to snag a quick kiss, which turned into a slightly longer kiss when he seemed to realize Dean had no problems with it. He didn't say anything when he drew back again, just closed his eyes, his head still turned in Dean's direction.

Dean listened to the sound of his brother's breathing and let it lull him into rest, even if sleep was beyond him.

~*~

"- So I'll summon it, and then I want you to kill it," Ruby said.

"You don't want me to practice giving it orders first?" Sam asked. He'd been uneasy, the first few times Ruby had told him to kill one of the demons she'd summoned at random, but she'd just laughed at him, pointed out that killing demons was what he spent his life trying to do, and wasn't this a bad time to be having second thoughts about it? Sam couldn't help but feel that there had to be a difference between hunting demons and summoning them to shoot them in cold blood, but he had to admit that he was probably on shaky moral ground there. And when he thought about it, fewer demons had to be a good thing, right? If he had a weapon which could destroy them, surely he had a duty to use it?

But until now that had always come at the end of one of their practice sessions. Summoning a demon and killing it right away seemed a bit of a waste.

"No, this time I just want you to kill it," Ruby said, though her slight smirk told Sam that there was more to it than that.

"Okay," he said, nonetheless, and took out the Colt.

"Ah ah ah," Ruby said chidingly, her smirk now a full-blown grin. "Put the gun away, Sam."

Sam frowned. "What exactly are you trying to get me to do?"

"You're too dependent on that gun," Ruby told him. "You need to start learning to impose your will without it. I don't want you to shoot this demon - I want you to kill it yourself."

Sam stared at her. "What?"

"You heard me," Ruby said, and laughed at whatever she saw in his expression. "I'm not asking you to get into a fist-fight with it, Sam. You've been practicing imposing your will - well, this time I want you to impose your will on this demon and kill it. I don't mind how you do it, whether you will it out of existence, or tell it to stop breathing, or order it to return to Hell, or... well, the possibilities are just _endless_, aren't they?"

The relish in her voice made Sam feel slightly nauseous, but he supposed he could see her point. He'd grown used to having the Colt, not just as a last resort, but as the most effective and final way of dealing with demons and the supernatural generally. Maybe he had started relying on it too much. Besides, did it really make that much of a difference, whether he shot a demon or dealt with it some other way?

He tucked the Colt away again, trying to prepare himself mentally. He could feel Dean's eyes on his back from where he was standing on the edge of the clearing, but his brother had quickly given up on trying to interfere during the practice sessions. He still insisted on trying to talk Sam out of what he was doing when they were alone, though, and Sam had no doubt that Dean would be giving him a piece of his mind later.

He tried to put it out of his mind. Dean was the one he was doing this for.

Sam didn't hear Ruby say anything, but all of a sudden there was a demon standing inside the circle of rocks. She was tall and pretty and dark-haired, but when she blinked in surprise, her eyes were black.

"Stop. Stay here, within that circle," Sam ordered at once, throwing as much of his will behind the words as he could. He always began with that, no matter what Ruby wanted him to practice afterwards; it was best to take care of it first, and it also meant that if he came across a demon he wasn't strong enough to control, he would find out fast enough to try something else.

"Get on with it, Sam," Ruby said impatiently.

Sam stared at the demon and swallowed. It didn't matter what he told himself - it looked human. Right now it even looked frightened. And, for that matter, this one was possessing a human being. If he killed it, the woman would die too. He would have to try to drive the demon out and back to hell, instead.

Except that an exorcism was traumatic and dangerous enough for the victim. If he tried to force the demon out just by the strength of his will... well, he wasn't completely certain what would happen, but it wasn't a risk he was prepared to take blindly, either.

"_Sam_," Ruby insisted.

Sam took a deep breath and launched into an exorcism rite, but he didn't get more than three words in before Ruby waved a hand and the demon vanished.

"What the _fuck_, Sam?" she demanded, rounding on him. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"There was a human being in there," Sam said, starting to get angry himself. "What did you _think_ I -"

"Do you think the crossroads demon is going to do you the favor of turning up in her real form?" Ruby demanded. "You think there's even a _chance_ she won't turn up in the body of the prettiest woman she can find, the one she thinks will most remind you of your dead girlfriend? And what are you going to do when that happens, when it comes down to some random woman's life and your conscience, or your brother? He got lucky, threatening her with an exorcism once. She's not going to fall for that again. And you can't make a deal with her, because you'd need two now, one for Dean's soul and one for his life, and you've nothing to offer her but your own soul. You're going to have to compel her, Sam." She glared at him. "And believe me, she's a proud, independent old bitch who doesn't like taking orders from anyone. You're going to need all the practice you can get, and you're going to need to be able to back up your threats, and if you keep trying to get out of even the easiest tests, you're just wasting both of our time!"

Sam opened his mouth, but she hadn't finished yet.

"I agreed to try to help you on one condition, Sam, do you remember? You said you were ready to go through with it this time, to pay the price and to ditch your ridiculous notions of right and wrong. But the moment you have to go beyond ordering something to pick up a rock, you wimp out. You can't impose your will, and the reason you can't is that you still don't want to. And that's fine." Ruby smiled at him nastily. "If you're not interested in saving your brother's soul after all, then that's just fine."   
Sam couldn't help the rage that swelled up in him at that. How _dare_ she even suggest -

He threw his hand out in the direction of the circle. She wanted him to impose his will? She wanted him to kill a demon? Fine. Sam had just the right fucking demon in mind.

"_Casey_!" he yelled, throwing his will behind the name.

If he'd been less furious, Ruby and Dean's simultaneous shocked gasps would have been hilarious, but Sam's attention was entirely on the figure that had just appeared in the circle. "Stop. Stay here, within that circle," he ordered, staring at it.

Casey didn't look quite how he remembered her. He could see now why people had commented on how pale she was, because it really didn't look natural. She looked like someone who'd been dead and come back, and Sam guessed that wouldn't really be a good look on anyone.

Her eyes were wide and alarmed as she looked around the clearing, her gaze pausing on Ruby for a moment before returning to Sam.

"Sam," Dean said, sounding a bit off-balance. "Dude - look, she wasn't the one who killed me, all right? It wasn't her. She tried to save me, okay, so -"

"I want you to tell me only the truth," Sam snapped at Casey, speaking over his brother. "And I want you to answer my questions. You can start off by telling me who killed my brother."

"Sam," Ruby said warningly.

"My lover," Casey said. She sounded like the words were being forced out of her against her will. "You knew him by the name Father Gil."

Sam hadn't really doubted that Dean was telling him the truth - though the thought that he might be trying to protect Casey again had crossed his mind, admittedly - but as control questions went, it was a good way to check that _she_ was telling him the truth.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Ruby asked.

"Imposing my will," Sam said bluntly. "You wanted me to kill someone, right? Well, here's someone I want to kill. I just want some information first." He refocused on Casey. "Why did the two of you do it?"

Casey's eyes widened, like she hadn't expected that question and was alarmed by it. "He wanted payback. I wanted to help you - I was told it would. But I liked Dean, so I changed my mind."

"_Help _me?" Sam demanded in disbelief. "How the _fuck_ was murdering my brother supposed to help me?"

"The _fuck_?" Dean muttered at the same time.

"Help you to become who you're meant to be," Casey said, the words forced out between her teeth. "She - no, please -" She moaned, as if in pain. "Said it was the only way -"

Her head suddenly _snapped_ round at an unnatural angle, with a sickening crunch of bones breaking, and her body slumped to the ground, eyes already glazed over.

Sam stared, then turned to stare at Ruby, who was lowering her hand.

"Son of a _bitch_," Dean cursed, suddenly _shifting _across the clearing. Sam saw him crouch down beside Casey's corpse, but he kept his own attention on Ruby, staring at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"That's the kind of killing I was talking about," Ruby said briskly. "She was fighting your will, doing everything she could to avoid obeying you and telling you what you wanted to know. And when that happens, you're going to need to be able to back up your threats as a warning to others -"

"Stay where you are, Ruby," Sam said slowly. Throwing the full weight of his will behind his words was suddenly absurdly easy. "I want you to answer my questions and tell me only the truth."

Ruby shut her mouth abruptly, her eyes wide.

"Son of a _bitch_," Dean cursed again, more quietly. "I should have goddamn known."

"The 'she' Casey referred to," Sam said. "Who is that?"

Ruby's mouth worked for a moment before she finally choked out, "Me."

The fury Sam felt was like nothing he'd ever known before. It was only with a supreme effort that he managed to pull himself together to ask his next question. "Why? What did you want to achieve?"

"I wanted -" Ruby bared her teeth, looking as if she was fighting against the compulsion. "Wanted _this_. Wanted you to tap into your true nature and take command of the armies of Hell."

Sam forced himself not to think about that for now, shutting down each thing she said into a separate compartment. He could deal with it all later; right now he needed to learn the truth. "What was in it for you?"

"Power behind the throne," Ruby admitted painfully. "The one who controlled you..."

"But why Dean?" Sam demanded. "Why did you have to go after him?"

"Because it wasn't _working_," Ruby said. "You kept clinging to all your stupid principles, and even when you laid them aside, you wouldn't sacrifice them entirely. I needed you desperate. And even though you kept him in the dark, your goddamn brother somehow kept you from going over the edge, and I thought losing him would destabilize you."

"So you found a pair of demons who were out for revenge," Sam said softly. "Gave them the information they needed to lure Dean there - you told them about Ben."

"Yes," Ruby admitted, her face twisting in pain. "Sam - you still need me, you're not strong enough to go up against the crossroads demon yet. I can help you - there's still a chance for you to get your brother back -"

"It's because of you my brother's dead," Sam said evenly.

He pulled out the Colt in one smooth movement and leveled it at her. "Guess you were right about it destabilizing me, though."

And he pulled the trigger.

~*~

The sound of the shot was horribly loud in the small clearing. Dean crouched next to Casey's corpse and watched the sparks of red and gold lighting up Ruby's upper body where the bullet had entered her chest. It only took a second for her eyes to glaze over and for her to collapse to the ground.

Dean stared, his mind still whirling with everything Sam had forced her to admit. _Jesus Christ_. He'd never trusted Ruby, had always had his suspicions about her real motives, but he'd never thought that she would have gone that far to try to divide him and Sam. If only she'd known what the real consequences would be.

Sam was still just standing there, arm outstretched, the Colt held unwaveringly in his hand. He was staring at Ruby's body.

Dean got slowly to his feet and walked up behind Sam. He pressed one hand flat against Sam's spine: _I'm here_.

Sam inhaled slowly and lowered his arm, putting the Colt away again.

They stood together in silence for a few moments before Sam finally choked out, "Dean... Oh, god, I'm so sorry."

Dean frowned. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, Sam."

"I was pretty sure she was using me to some extent," Sam said. The words were tumbling out of him; he seemed desperate to explain. "I'm not stupid, I knew she had her own motives, but I figured I was using her too, so - it never occurred to me she might - I never thought - oh, _fuck_, Dean -"

Dean moved round to stand in front of Sam, blocking his view of Ruby's body, and grabbed his upper arms as tightly as he could. "Sammy, listen to me. It's not your fault, okay? I know you were trying to save me. None of this shit was you - I know I'm the only reason you went along with it. And there was no way you could know she'd do that."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered. His eyes were filling with tears. "Oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry -"

"Not your fault, Sam," Dean said again, tightening his grip on Sam's arms. He had every intention of repeating it until it began to sink in.

Sam sagged against him with a muffled sob, his arms going round Dean and clinging tightly, his head bowing to rest on Dean's shoulder. Dean held him fiercely, thankful that no matter how tall Sam was, he could always fit against him somehow when necessary.

"I've got you," Dean murmured quietly. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy."

"It's not," Sam whispered a few minutes later, his voice half-muffled against Dean's neck. "I don't know what to _do_, Dean. She was right, I'm not strong enough, and I don't know if it would ever have worked anyway, if she was just stringing me along. I don't know what else to do -"

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand against Sam's back, soothing as best he could. "You don't have to do anything, Sammy. You never did. I knew what I was doing when I made that deal. And I've never regretted it, not for a goddamn minute, except for watching you slip deeper into all of _this_."

Sam raised his head, and Dean laid a finger on his lips to keep him quiet. "None of this was you. I don't give a damn what bullshit she fed you about your 'true self' or 'destiny' or whatever. I know you, Sammy. And I'd rather wind up in hell than watch you lose yourself just to save me. So your crazy plan didn't work out? Well, I'm _glad_, Sam. Fuck knows I don't want to lose you, but if it's going to happen, I'd rather it be this way than her way."

Sam stared at him for a long moment, despair in his eyes, and then kissed him, hard and painful, like a deal being sealed. Dean gave himself over to it, letting everything but Sam slip away.

When Sam finally drew away, it took a few moments before Dean managed to open his eyes. When he did so, he found Sam cupping his face in his hands and staring at him, as if committing him to memory. Dean swallowed, but didn't try to pull away.

Then slowly Sam's expression shifted, the lost yearning hardening into cold determination. "No," he said quietly.

Dean frowned. "What?"

"No," Sam repeated, his hands tightening slightly against Dean's face. "No, I'm not giving up on you. This is _not _over yet."


	9. Chapter 9

The Impala skidded around a corner, and Dean had to bite his tongue to hold back the warning that sprang to his lips. He didn't quite dare to threaten Sam for treating his car that way, though, not when Sam was like this.

Sam's face was set, a faint frown of concentration the only sign Dean had that his brother was even still _thinking_ about whatever crazy stunt he had planned. Dean was getting seriously worried about what exactly that might be.

"Sam," he ventured cautiously. When his brother kept on staring straight ahead at the road without speaking, Dean raised his voice. "Sammy."

"Don't," Sam said tersely.

"No, see, that's my line," Dean told him. "Whatever the hell you're thinking of doing -"

"I know what I'm doing, Dean," Sam said quietly. "Trust me."

They didn't often say that to each other. Some things were too fundamental to need to be discussed. And Dean did trust Sam, he really did. He trusted Sam to find a way to bring him back - and that was what worried him. What he didn't trust was Sam's ability to find a way to do it without getting himself killed.

Dean shut up. Better to save his ammunition for a battle it looked like he could win. And his energy. The night was wearing on, and he could feel the world starting to turn strange and faded around him. He was starting to slip again, and though he still had a little time left before he lost himself, he needed to start conserving his strength.

Sam braked hard, and Dean couldn't stop himself from cursing this time as the car came to a screeching halt at the side of the road. His anger at the mistreatment of the Impala faded, however, when he realized that Sam had stopped just a few feet away from where another road met the one they were on.

"_No_," Dean said sharply. "Sam, don't -"

Last time Sam had stopped at a crossroads, he'd been unable to see or hear Dean's protests. For all the attention Sam was paying this time, Dean thought acidly as his brother got out of the car, he might as well still be invisible.

He hurried after his brother, picking up his pace when he realized that Sam wasn't pausing to collect the box they'd used in the past to summon the demon, but instead heading straight for the center of the crossroads.

"Sam -" Dean said, feeling panic creeping in. "Sammy, _please_, don't -"

Sam swung round to meet his eyes, and Dean felt his words die under his brother's gaze.

"I need to," Sam said, his voice almost inaudible.

Their gazes held for a long moment, all the things they never bothered putting into words hanging between them, and Dean closed his mouth, swallowing hard. He'd always known Sam loved him; he'd just never quite understood that Sam genuinely felt just as strongly as Dean did about him. He really wished he could have found out some other way.

Sam tilted his head up to look at the sky, and called out in a hard-edged tone, "I summon you!"

Dean held his breath. He'd kind of assumed that Sam would need her name in order to summon her, but he could hear the whip-crack of command in Sam's voice which he'd long since learned meant that his brother was putting the whammy on someone, so maybe that was enough.

And it seemed to be, because the demon was suddenly standing at the center of the crossroads, just a few feet away from Sam.

Dean had to fight to stop himself from developing claws in reaction to the threat he knew she posed to Sam. He made himself concentrate on her appearance, instead. Ruby had been wrong about her possessing someone who looked like Jessica, because she was a dazzling brunette again, but perhaps that was just because Sam hadn't given her enough time to pick out someone suitable to wear. Her face was drawn into lines of cold fury, and Dean caught his breath at the realization that Sam had managed to compel her, even though he'd said he wasn't strong enough.

"I seem to recall warning you not to try that on me again," the demon said. Her eyes flashed red for a moment before she seemed to get her fury back under control. "You're lucky I was feeling generous enough to come anyway, Sam Winchester."

_Bullshit_, Dean thought. _He forced you._ He restrained the urge to move across and stand beside his brother: this was Sam's show, much as Dean might wish otherwise, and he wasn't about to risk distracting him or weakening his position.

Sam didn't seem interested in engaging with her bullshit, which Dean approved of, at least. "I want my brother back."

The demon sighed over-dramatically. "This again? You Winchesters are all the same. It really is starting to get boring."

"I want you to bring him back," Sam said again steadily.

She laughed. "That's not _all _you want, is it, Sam? All those pent-up longings you never knew you harbored, all those dark little secrets you kept even from your own subconscious... It must have come as shock, realizing the kind of cesspit you have inside of you. And now you want him back to unleash all of that on him?" Her smile was vicious. "I can understand why you'd finally be willing to make a deal now, though." She lowered her voice, mock-conspiratorially. "Those claws are a real turn-off, I bet."

Dean had to clench his fists to stop his hands from shifting into claws, and only just managed to choke down the furious retort on his lips. Sam knew better than to listen to her bullshit, and Dean wasn't going to play into her hands by interrupting.

Sam remained silent, his jaw clenched tightly.

"So tell me, Sam," the demon said, "did you really bring me here for a reason, or are you just wasting my time again? Because you might be able to compel me into appearing, but breaking a deal? Trust me, you don't stand a chance. And as much fun as it always is to see you and Dean, I _do _have other things to do with my time."

"I know I can't compel you," Sam said. "That's not why I'm here. I want to make a deal - two of them, actually."

_Fuck_, Dean thought. "Oh fuck, Sam, please, no," he said, before he'd even realized he was speaking aloud.

She turned her gaze on him, her eyes sparkling. "Runs in the family, huh, Dean? It must just be _killing_ you - all over again - to stand there and know you can't interfere." She smiled at him maliciously before returning her attention to Sam. "The thing is, Sam, you don't have two souls to sell. You might be able to arrange one deal, if I'm feeling _very_ generous, but not two."

She took a step towards Sam and lowered her voice. "If you want him back... I could do that. He'd have three weeks of life. There's a lot he could do in three weeks. And I could be persuaded to give you those three weeks with him and collect you both at the same time. Of course... there is the risk that he wouldn't _want _you, once he was back in his body and no longer half-insane. He might not cling to you quite as much when you're not the only thing anchoring him to the world. It's amazing what kinds of deviant behavior people can be _coerced_ into when they're vulnerable, isn't it? Then again, maybe he won't even remember that you took advantage once he's back in his body. Who knows?" She laughed. "I guess that's the kind of risk you take for people you _love_, isn't it, Sam?"

Dean couldn't stop himself from hissing, could feel his teeth lengthening as rage coursed through him.

Sam didn't look in his direction, but Dean saw his throat working before he spoke. "My soul isn't what I had in mind."

"Oh, please," she said dismissively. "What else could you possibly have that would interest me?"

"I've got the ability to compel you," Sam said.

The demon's smile faded. "I already told you that you're not strong enough to force me to break a deal."

"I know," Sam agreed. "But we both know I _did _compel you to come here. And I forced you to appear for our last meeting, too, didn't I? I just didn't realize it at the time. So I already have the ability to make your existence... less than enjoyable. And I'm only going to get stronger." He smiled grimly. "You don't like taking orders, you've made that very clear. And I think that it might fuck things up for you a bit if I start summoning you back every time you try to leave these crossroads. Being trapped here with me until I die... You've gotten a lot of entertainment out of my family, but I don't think you'd find that too much fun."

She stared at him for a moment, then started to smile. "Well, well, well. Maybe you're a bit more interesting than I thought. But I think you're bluffing, Sam. I don't think you're strong enough to pull that off, not yet."

"_Kneel_," Sam commanded, his voice deepening.

Dean watched with savage satisfaction as she struggled against the order but slowly sank down to her knees, snarling at Sam, all her playful amusement stripped away. Sam smiled at her, cold and hard.

"You've made your point," she ground out through gritted teeth. "Let me up."

"In a moment, maybe," Sam said. "Are you willing to deal?"

She glared at him, but Dean knew she had no other choice, and she seemed to recognize that too, however reluctantly. "Yes."

"Then you can stand up again, if you want," Sam said casually.

Dean grinned as she got to her feet. There was grey dust from the road smeared across her black dress, and it was hugely satisfying to see her look less than perfect.

"Fine," she said, her voice tight with fury. "I'll bring your brother back. And in exchange you'll be bound from compelling me. Deal?"

"Bring him back and heal his body," Sam specified. "Make sure he doesn't suffer any after-effects from all of this."

She glared at him. "The physical side of things I can take care of. Mental side-effects are out of my hands, though."

Sam looked at her for a moment, but seemed to conclude she was being truthful, because he nodded. "Okay, then. Deal." He turned his head in Dean's direction, as if about to say something, but before he had the chance the demon was kissing him.

Dean barely had a chance to snarl at that before everything went dark.

~*~

Sam yanked his head away from the demon, grimacing. She took a step back, her eyes hard.

He ignored her and looked around. There was no sign of Dean. "Where is he?" he demanded, turning back to her.

She looked at him contemptuously. "We made a deal. He's back in that body you want _so _badly, just like we agreed."

Sam gritted his teeth. She had a real fucking talent for picking away at his weak spots, but he was damned if he was going to give her the reaction she was looking for. "Fine. Then let's move on to the second deal. I want you to release Dean from the deal he made with you. No year limit, no claim on his soul - he's free."

"And what can you offer me for that?" the demon demanded. "Because you're asking me to give up a _lot_. Why should I?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Because in return I'll give you the Colt." He took it out and balanced it on his palm for her to see.

The demon stared at it, then at him. And then she burst out laughing.

Sam swallowed and waited. _Mind games. Don't fall for it._

"I don't believe it," the demon said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Oh, Sam. Are you really _that _naive? You really haven't figured it out?" She threw her head back and laughed again.

_Mind games_, Sam reminded himself again, but with less conviction this time. Something about the way she was laughing - more sheer amusement than maliciousness - struck him as genuine.

"Sorry, Sam," she said, almost fondly, "I'm afraid I'm not interested in your toy gun. If I want flashy light effects, I can make my own. It's not even worth a kiss, let alone a deal." She smiled at him and turned away, then paused, glancing over her shoulder. "I'm still willing to give you three weeks in exchange for your soul, though. You still get the time with your brother, but you're the only one who has to go to hell at the end of it. That'd be fairer, wouldn't it? Since _you're_ the reason he made the deal in the first place?"

Sam was still trying to absorb the implications of what she'd said about the Colt, but he shoved that aside, tucking the gun away again and concentrating on the real problem. Her offer was almost tempting, even if it would only give him three weeks. He would only have three weeks with Dean anyway, as things stood, and this way... There was an appropriate kind of symmetry to it. And he'd had a taste now of what it would be like to lose Dean, and it was something he really didn't want to go through again.

But he couldn't do that to Dean, either.

"No deal," he forced himself to say, and swallowed hard. _We've got three weeks. That's still enough time to come up with another way_.

"Too bad," the demon said and smiled. "Nice doing business with you, Sam. Enjoy your brother's last three weeks." She turned away again.

"Wait!" Sam said hastily, a thought occurring to him.

"You can't compel me, not any more," the demon said, throwing a malicious grin at him over her shoulder. "Forgotten so soon?"

"I wasn't trying to," Sam said, playing for time as his thoughts raced. "I was... _requesting_ that you wait for a moment. Because I still have something else to offer you in exchange for Dean's soul."

She laughed, turning properly to face him. "Oh, what will it be this time? Another shiny piece of scrap metal, maybe?"

"No," Sam said slowly. "I can offer you freedom."

She eyed him thoughtfully. "I have freedom, and you've already given up your ability to compel me."

"But it goes further than that, what I can do, doesn't it?" Sam said, still figuring it out as he went along. "Ruby didn't just want me to compel individual demons, she wanted me to command them. To rule them. When Azazel died, that... potential passed to me."

"That hardly affects me now you can't control me," the demon said dismissively.

"Now who's being naive?" Sam asked, feeling a smile tug at his lips. "If I'm in control of every other demon, do you really think what I can do with that power won't affect you? I could send them after you. I could give others power over the crossroads. I could have you confined. The possibilities are endless."

The demon stared at him. "You wouldn't. You've fought it every step of the way."

"I have," Sam agreed. "But if my brother's in hell, well... that rather gives me an incentive to be the one running the place, doesn't it? I don't _want_ to do it, no. I don't deny that. But I'd be prepared to do it if I had to."

"What are you proposing?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"You release Dean from his deal, like I said," Sam said. "And I give up my right to rule - my ability to order demons around and everything else it entails. We both get what we want. You get to profit from the lack of clear command structures to go your own way." He paused, then added as an afterthought, "And you don't need to worry about having Ruby in power over you."

The demon gave a twisted smile. "A compelling argument, I'll grant you that." She eyed him for a moment longer, as if sizing him up, and Sam held his breath and tried to look confident. He wasn't entirely sure himself whether or not he was bluffing. And he really hoped he wouldn't be forced to find out.

"Deal," she said finally, and grabbed his hair to yank him down painfully into a kiss.

Sam was half-expecting to feel different when she released him, like something was missing inside him, but there was nothing.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Sam Winchester," the demon said, smiling almost seductively at him and touching a finger to his lips fleetingly.

Sam took a sharp step back. "Dean's free?"

"He's all yours," she said, and smiled cruelly. "I'm sure you'll enjoy that." She vanished before he could formulate a retort, leaving him staring around at the deserted crossroads.

He'd done it. He'd actually _done _it. But Sam couldn't find it in himself to celebrate yet. Quite apart from the misgivings he still had about what the demon had said about the Colt, part of him wouldn't believe that his brother was back until he could see Dean for himself, wouldn't stop worrying until the three weeks were past and Dean really was still there.

As if it had heard his thoughts, his cell phone rang. Sam reached into his pocket and hastily pulled it out.

_Dean_, the display blinked.

The wave of relief that hit him was so strong that it took Sam a moment to press the receive button. "Dean?" He couldn't suppress the eagerness in his voice, but he figured his brother owed him some slack for a chick-flick moment right now.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sam. Dean's not feeling too talkative right now," Ruby said, and the line went dead.

~*~

The Impala's wheels were loud on the gravel as Sam pulled the car up in front of Bobby's house. The house itself was in darkness, confirming his suspicion that Ruby had managed to take Bobby out of the equation before she'd gone after Dean.

Sam couldn't let himself think about that now; much as it went against the grain, he didn't have time to go check on Bobby. He jumped out of the car and headed in the direction of the outhouse where they'd stored Dean's body.

He didn't bother trying to stay quiet enough to sneak up without being heard: he knew the sound of the car roaring up to the house would have destroyed any element of surprise he might have had, but there just hadn't been time to leave it further away. Besides, Ruby knew he was coming, was counting on it. She wouldn't have called him from Dean's cell if she hadn't wanted to lure him here.

He pulled out his gun as he reached the outhouse, and grimaced at the realization that he was still carrying the Colt. Which was apparently worse than useless. He eased the safety off anyway, and kicked the door open.

"Hi, Sam," Ruby said. "Took you long enough to get here."

Sam ignored her, his eyes focused on his brother. Dean was sitting on the bench at the end of the tiny outhouse, and the sight of his brother there and alive sent a wave of relief through Sam. Dean was shivering, he noted - probably due partly to the fact that the refrigeration system Bobby had rigged up was still running, and that Dean was naked in the freezing room, since they'd cut his ruined clothes off his corpse. But Sam took in his brother's appearance with a swift glance and decided the shivering was probably also linked to the dazed expression in Dean's eyes. _Mental side-effects_, the crossroads demon had said. Sam hoped it was nothing worse than shock.

Ruby was standing behind Dean, her knife pressed to his throat.

She looked much the same as she had when they'd left her corpse lying in the woods: horribly pale from bloodloss, blood soaked into her shirt and smeared across her leather jacket. Sam could still see the bullet wound.

"So you tampered with the Colt?" Sam asked, taking a step into the outhouse. His gaze flickered down to Dean, who still hadn't shown any sign of being aware of his presence, and then back up to Ruby.

She grinned at him, cold and malicious. "Well, how many times have you threatened me with it, Sam? I'm not stupid. I wasn't about to hand you a weapon you could use to kill me, not when I knew there was a good chance you'd turn it on me at some point. It looks very convincing, though, doesn't it? Knocks you out cold for an hour or so, seals you in the body you're wearing at the time, but otherwise no permanent damage." She waved the hand not holding the knife dismissively. "I like this body, I don't mind keeping it."

Sam took a step closer. _Keep her talking_. "So all of the demons and other things I've killed with it... they're still around."

"And taking full advantage of hunters thinking they're dead and gone," Ruby confirmed cheerfully. "It's amazing, the freedom that can give you. Well -" she laughed, gesturing to take in their current situation, "- you can see for yourself what kind of things we can achieve when people assume we're dead."

Sam nodded, darting another look at Dean. His brother was still shivering, but Sam's heart leaped as he realized Dean was looking at him. With confusion, yes, and still not seeming to be fully aware of what was going on, but _god_, it was good to see recognition in his brother's eyes.

"I don't get what it is you're trying to achieve here, though," he said, trying to keep her attention off Dean.

"The same thing I've always been working towards," Ruby said. "Someone needs to take control, Sam. We're far stronger together than we are separately. When we're all just running around individually, hunters can pick us off, but if we come together... nothing can stand against us."

"And you think threatening my brother's the best way to convince me?" Sam asked sarcastically.

Ruby pressed the knife harder against Dean's throat, and Sam swallowed. "I promise you," she warned, "that even though the Colt may not kill anything but humans, this knife is the real deal. There'll be no way for you to bring him back if I slit his throat."

Dean was frowning; he raised one hand as if to dislodge the knife against his throat, then dropped it again.

"Look," Sam said hastily, before Ruby could get any ideas, "you're too late. I made a deal with the crossroads demon. You wanted me to take control, but I can't any more, I gave up that right. So you might as well put the knife away. I can't do it, even if I wanted to."

Ruby stared at him, then laughed. "And you think it's over? That's it: brother back, destiny sold off, you get to be Joe Normal - well, mostly?"

Sam said nothing, watching her warily. Leaving aside the normal thing, that was more or less what he'd been hoping, though he guessed he should have known it was too much to ask.

"Sam," Dean mumbled.

"I'm here, Dean," Sam said, risking a quick glance away from Ruby. "It's going to be okay, just hang in there."

"It's nowhere near that simple, Sam," Ruby told him. "You may have sold away the right to rule, but you didn't give away your _potential_. You're the only one left out of your generation of chosen kids, which means the right has now passed on to the next generation. So if you want your brother to keep the life he's just got back, what you're going to do is take out the next generation."

Sam stared at her in disbelief. "_What_?"

"If you kill them, you win back the right to rule," Ruby said. "I've invested too much time and effort in you to just give up, Sam. It'll take me far too long to train up one of those kids, and they won't be _you_, with all the advantages you have. By the time I've whipped one of them into shape, it'll be too late - the demons will have adapted to anarchy, and they won't want to follow a child, no matter what powers that child has."

"I'm not going to kill a bunch of _kids_," Sam said.

"Not even to save your brother's life?" Ruby asked, tightening her grip on the knife. The point broke the surface of Dean's skin, and Sam held his breath as a narrow trickle of blood slid down Dean's neck.

"Wait," he said hastily. "I don't - Ruby, you're not going to gain anything, not even if I did... kill those kids. You're in this for the power, but you can't seriously think I'd give it to you after this?"

Ruby smirked at him. "You'll be amazed at how different the world looks once you've killed them, Sam. Once you accept who you are, everything becomes very simple. I think the only reason you've acted so... stubbornly, even once you started using your powers, is because you weren't the true winner of your generation. That'll change when you do what I tell you." Her voice became steely. "I can give you the names. I think your brother and I will go somewhere nice and private to wait for you."

Sam gritted his teeth. He honestly hadn't thought he'd miss the power to command demons for even a moment, but right now he couldn't help but desperately wish he still had it, at least long enough to take Ruby out. He didn't doubt that she'd use the knife on Dean if he didn't do what she said, purely to spite him.

"Get up," Ruby snapped at Dean, yanking at his arm with her free hand.

Sam forced down his fury and helplessness and tried desperately to think of something he could do.

Dean stumbled to his feet. He still seemed out of it, but the blankness of his expression was increasingly giving way to signs of distress. He bared his teeth as Ruby's knife dug slightly into his throat again, a silent snarl that reminded Sam far too much of Dean as a ghost, reacting to a perceived threat to his brother.

Which meant that Dean might - oh god.

"Okay," Sam said, keeping his tone as soothing as he could for Dean's benefit. "Okay, I'll do what you want. Just - let Dean go first."

Ruby laughed. "Let him go? I told you, Sam, I'm not stupid. He's your weak spot, the best way to get you to do anything. I'll release him once you've done what I want, but not before." Her voice became openly threatening. "And if you try to double-cross me this time, I will cut him open, is that clear? And I'll only start with his throat if I'm feeling generous. Have you got that, Sam?"

Sam didn't have a chance to answer before Dean turned, snarling, and attacked Ruby.

~*~

Nothing made sense.

Dean fought for clarity. _Voicespaincoldtouchsensationoverwhelm_.

Things only split into separate senses slowly. Touch came back first: cold, biting pain against his throat, rough bench beneath him, harsh floor against his feet. Sight was more confused, but then he realized he was looking at Sam, and that brought things back into more focus. Sound came back in stages. Sam's voice, filled with fury and fear, though Dean couldn't process the words. _Something's wrong_. And another voice, one Dean dimly felt he should recognize but couldn't place, a voice that threatened.

Threatening Sam, he realized. That was why Sam sounded so upset.

And the pain at his throat, that was coming from the voice too. From... someone behind him.

The voice became even more threatening, and that was enough. Dean didn't let _anyone_ hurt Sam.

There was a sudden sting of pain at his throat as he attacked, but whoever it was clearly hadn't been expecting him to do anything, because Dean managed to knock the threatening voice to the floor, trying to claw and bite at it.

_No one gets to attack Sam._

He could hear Sam's voice behind him, and realized in a flicker of clarity that it was his name that Sam was screaming.

Another sudden burst of pain, and Dean suddenly found himself lying on the ground across the room from the owner of the voice. He blinked again, trying to make sense of what was going on, and the world came back into focus in time for him to see Sam flying through the air and smashing hard into a wall, collapsing to the ground.

_Sam_.

Dean snarled and launched himself at the owner of the threatening voice. She - he'd figured out that much, but the rest was hazy, even though he felt he ought to know more - lashed out at him with something that bit into his hands like the pain he'd felt at his throat earlier.

"Dean!"

He grabbed for it, struggling against her until he managed to wrench the source of the pain from her. And then he struck out at her with it as hard as he could, again and again, until she stopped fighting him, stopped trying to attack Sam.

"Dean. _Dean_. Stop, you can stop now, c'mon -"

_Sam_.

Dean dropped the - weapon? weapon - and turned to Sam, blinking to try to bring him into focus. Sam sounded... upset but relieved, and not angry, not at him. He sounded alive and real and oh god, Dean needed him.

"C'mon, come here," Sam was murmuring. "I got you, it's okay now -"

_Okay now_. _Sam's here_.

Dean crawled to his brother and buried his face against Sam's neck, soaking up the sound of his heartbeat, and let the world of confusion slip away around him.

~*~

Sam clung to his brother, running a hand through Dean's hair, trying to make his heartbeat settle back down by listening to Dean's.

_Oh god, Dean's heartbeat. He's alive_.

It was almost impossible to take in. Dean was clinging to him in almost exactly the same way as he had when he was a ghost, but Sam could feel Dean's heartbeat, and his brother's skin was real against his own. Dean might be out of it and too cold and bleeding, but he was _alive_.

He tried not to look at Ruby's corpse. It looked like she hadn't been lying when she'd said that the knife was the real deal. She'd just miscalculated what Dean was capable of, even in shock, when he thought Sam was in danger.

The door suddenly swung open and Sam snapped his head up, already bracing for a new threat, only to sag with relief at the sight of Bobby standing in the doorway, gun in hand. He hadn't had much opportunity to think about what Ruby might have done to Bobby, but he was beyond grateful that she hadn't simply killed him.

Bobby's jaw worked for a moment as he took in the scene, and Sam flushed slightly at the realization of how he and Dean probably looked to an outsider. Then Bobby said, "You need some help getting him inside? He'll catch his d- " He cleared his throat and rephrased. "That is, it's goddamn freezing in here."

Sam laughed, hearing hysteria creeping in around the edges, and clutched Dean a bit tighter. He felt reluctant to let anyone else touch Dean, but he knew Bobby was right: his brother needed to be moved somewhere warmer and more comfortable. And preferably less bloodstained.

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks, Bobby. You okay?"

Bobby's eyes returned to Dean. "Yeah, I'm good."

They moved Dean straight to bed, in the end; now that the threat was gone, Dean seemed mostly unaware of his surroundings again, simply clinging to Sam. They took a quick glance at his neck and hands, where Ruby had cut him with her knife, but decided it was nothing that couldn't wait until the next day.

Sam settled into bed with Dean: even if his brother had seemed willing to relax his grip on him, there would have been no way Sam would have left him. Bobby backed up to the bedroom door.

"Shout if you need anything," he said quietly.

Sam glanced down at Dean and half-smiled at Bobby. "I'm good."

Bobby grinned back and went out, closing the door quietly behind him. Sam heard him whistling as he went back down the stairs.

He lay in bed and held onto his brother, and finally let the relief come flooding in. They'd done it. Dean was going to live, and surely by morning - _please, god _\- he'd be nearly back to normal. And then...

Well, _then_ would take care of itself. Sam forced all the ugly things the crossroads demon had said to him to the back of his mind. Whatever happened next, whatever Dean decided, Sam was lucky. He wrapped his arm across Dean's chest and tangled their legs together, and did his best to simply enjoy the moment.

He must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes, the room was grey with pre-dawn light, and Dean was staring up at him.

Sam felt his heartbeat jump. Was Dean... aware? Was he...

"Dean?" he whispered.

Dean was looking at him, really looking at him. "Sam."

Sam felt the hysteria catching up with him, tears welling. _Oh god, he's really going to be okay_.

"Hey," Dean said, nudging him before he could lose it completely. "So my death's worth breaking out the good whiskey for, but my resurrection isn't? A guy could take that personally."

Sam was surprised into a laugh, then found he couldn't stop. He buried his head against Dean's neck, not quite sure whether he was laughing or crying.

Dean's arms came up around him, a hand stroking at the nape of his neck, and Sam held on.


	10. Epilogue

The clock across the room was ticking too loudly for Dean to sleep.

He tried not to watch the hands moving, but his eyes kept being drawn back to it. Finally he rolled onto his side to stare at his brother instead. Sam was a solid, reassuring weight next to him, face half-hidden in his pillow, his hair mussed into what would be a ridiculous mess when he woke up. He was close enough to touch, but Dean held himself back, forced himself just to look instead.

It was getting easier, in some ways. He didn't _need_ to touch Sam all the time any more. Now he just _wanted_ to, and Dean still hadn't figured out what to do about that.

He guessed that in eighteen minutes he'd find out whether or not he was going to get a chance to work it out.

_The hell with this_. He couldn't just lie here and wait, or he'd go mad.

Dean started to roll over, then hesitated and leaned over to brush a kiss against his brother's cheek. He stared at Sam for a moment longer, then got out of bed, and told himself he'd be back.

The basement was dark, but Dean didn't bother to switch on a light. The cubes lined against the wall glinted, casting a faint glow, and that was enough to see by.

He hated it down here, but at the same time it held a weird fascination for him. He could still remember what it had been like, trapped inside that cube with the other spirits, feeling all his boundaries eroding as they bled into him. So when the clock started ticking too loudly, he came down to the basement, to see for himself the additional bare spaces on the shelves where he and Sam had managed to lay all the spirits in a cube to rest. It was time-consuming work, even with Thomas's detailed notes on who the spirits were: usually eight to ten corpses to salt and burn, then breaking the receptacle to check that none of the spirits were still being held by something else. They'd only managed to destroy two cubes over the past three weeks, but it was a start. At least Sam had never questioned Dean's need to do it, even though it was obvious to both of them how long it was likely to take.

Much as Dean hated it in the basement, it was always a good reminder of how much he'd regained. And how much he still had to do - how much he was now _able _to do.

Assuming, of course, that hellhounds didn't break down the basement door to drag him to hell in ten minutes or so.

Dean tried not to think of that, tried to concentrate again on the work they had ahead of them. Freeing the trapped spirits and laying them to rest; hunting down the demons they had thought they'd killed over the past year, and dealing with them again; finding Casey and her lover and deciding what to do about them. They had a lot to do.

He heard a giggle behind him, but didn't turn. "Hey, Lara."

She rematerialized in front of him. "Not hiding good enough. He's gonna find you!"

Dean felt the corner of his mouth turn up. "Thanks for the warning, kiddo."

Lara beamed up at him and vanished again.

Dean sighed. Dead or not, she was a cute kid. They'd found out that her corpse was trapped at the bottom of a lake, and he and Sam had tacitly agreed to wait and see if she went crazy and started causing trouble before they tried to retrieve it. Dean was really kind of hoping she'd prove Thomas wrong, even if he hadn't managed it himself.

He heard the basement door click open, but didn't flinch. Hellhounds weren't likely to use the door handle. And even without Lara's warning, he'd never really been dumb enough to believe that Sam hadn't noticed the way he slipped away in the middle of the night.

"Hey," Sam murmured, coming up behind him.

"Hey," Dean said, grateful that Sam hadn't started in with stupid questions like _are you okay?_. His brother hadn't reached out to touch him, but he was standing close enough for Dean to feel his warmth against his back.

He wondered what Sam would do if Dean did drop dead in a few minutes, if the crossroads bitch had somehow found a way to play him. He guessed that was on his brother's mind too, because after a minute or two, Sam said, his voice hoarse, "Dean -"

Dean turned around to meet Sam's eyes, saw his own fear and hope reflected there, and knew he didn't want to go on or go out this way.

It wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be to take a step forward and lean against Sam, pressing his face against his brother's neck, the way he had when he'd been slipping as a ghost. It felt a bit like he was slipping again now, but Sam's arms tightened convulsively around him, like he was the one who'd been slipping for the past three weeks and Dean was his lifeline.

Dean stood and listened to his brother's heart beating down the minutes, and wasn't sorry, not for anything.

Eventually, he felt one of Sam's hands move away from his back, and the sound of a watch ticking close by his ear. Dean held his breath, and tried not to think.

His brother made a strange, half-strangled sound, and then Sam's hands were closing around Dean's face, pulling his head up roughly into a kiss, frantic and triumphant. Dean held on, dizzy with it, and let the implications sink in.

Sam finally pulled away, his hands still clutching him close, and Dean took his first deep breath in what felt like forever, holding on to his brother for support and focusing on Sam's smile. He didn't have the first clue what to say.

"C'mon," Sam said eventually, still smiling like he was never going to stop, and grabbed his wrist, tugging him up the stairs and out of the basement. Dean followed, still feeling dazed. Jesus, he had time. Time for... for _everything_.

When Sam dragged him back into bed, he didn't resist, and didn't pull away to put distance between them. He could feel Sam's warm breath grazing the back of his neck, one solid arm reassuring against his chest.

The clock across the room was ticking too loudly. Dean let the sound lull him into sleep.


End file.
